Lithium Hawkeye
by PeechTao
Summary: Clint and Tony whump! the two are sent on a trip to Amsterdam, but never make it so far before they are attacked mid-air. Tony must keep Clint alive, even if it means draining his ARC until he's dead. FINAL CHAPTER POSTED! OR IS IT THE FINAL CHAPTER?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! I want to send some credit out to Isalarma, she gave me the awesome plot bunny to write this when I finished her book Some Things Aren't Funny, go read it! Idea of Tony being afraid of water is a total credit to Isalarma.

**Summery:** Not long after the movie events Hawkeye and Tony Stark are trapped in the wrecked hull of a plane. For being a jerk, Thor has handcuffed Tony to the hull of the plane while Hawkeye flies. In mid flight, they are attacked by rogues. Neither can prevent the crash, or the sudden bonding experience that comes from trying to be the one who dies for the other.

**Author:** PeechTao

**Author note:** Ok, so this was based on some shameless Clint whump i wanted to personally enjoy, so all my painiacs will be veritably pleased! Because i love the friendship between Tony and Clint, i was more then happy to slap them around a little. So in the end this is a sort of the building of their friendship story, Clint's origin story, and crack all at once. hope you enjoy!

**Lithium Hawkeye**

_Prologue_

"Barton? Hey you still with me?"

"Emm fine..."

"You certainly are a fine specimen of a man but fine health-wise you definitely are not. I'll prove it. Give me a kiss."

"Ughfh..."

"See, if you were fine, you would have socked me across the face. I am left unblemished."

"..."

"Barton? Are you still with me?"

_Chapter 1_

Clint Barton, or Hawkeye as he was becoming increasingly known, sat perched in the corner of an F257 Archangel, high above the deck of Helicarrier Gold. He had been starring off into the seemingly endless ocean below him for hours, waiting to be of use. Any use. Director Fury might refer to this as R and R, Hawkeye saw it as punishment. Or Hell. Whichever was closest.

He detested inactivity of all forms. But he may just be painted as a traitor if he was caught wishing another band of out-of-worldly killers was attempting to take over the planet. It didn't matter. Most people in SHIELD looked at him strangely now after his possession by Loki. His favorite partner-in-crime, Agent Hartgrove avoided even looking at Clint. They hadn't spoken since the raid when their mutual friend Mickelson was murdered, probably by Clint though no one actively told him so. Even though he was good friends with Mickelson's wife, Clint couldn't bring himself to attend the funerals. He wasn't within eighty miles of Coulsen's either. The pain was just too hard to bear. A lot of the other agents saw that as a weakness, a fracture in the once all-powerful top SHIELD operative. According to their water-cooler knowledge, Clint was damaged goods.

Even Natasha Romanov, Black Widow, was not immune to the slightest edge of distrust. They were never alone together. She should be sitting on that Archangel with him, but she wasn't. They should be out there making trouble, but they weren't. Everything between them changed. Of anyone, she could understand what had happened to him. But it was increasingly obvious that not even their close connection transcended the horrors he committed under mind control.

He scoffed a little to himself. Mind control was hardly the tip of the iceberg. A part of his mind, his real thoughts, loved the mayhem he caused. It loved the murders, the blood stains over his skin from his victims, his friends, all in the name of a cause greater then his own understanding. His control was so completely ripped from him that not even the sight of the woman he cared for kept his mind from wanting to steal out her throbbing heart from the hole he carved in her chest. Even now after the doctors and head cases declared him "free" those dark feelings persisted. Some pieces of Clint wanted Loki back, they wanted to stop thinking, release all control and embrace complete and utter chaos and that's precisely what scared the Hell out of him.

Barton closed his eyes. He strove for that focus the shrink was always making him try out. He had to see the guy every other day now to talk about his feelings and why he felt like roses were mocking him and mauve was a stupid name for a color. They hardly ever got to the heart of Clint's issues, but talking to someone, anyone, even about stupid crap he just drummed up was actually making him feel a little better. The trouble was the doctor was still judging him. every second of every conversation he was trying to pull those fissures of sanity apart and tear Clint down from the outside in. Clint was happy they only met every other day, not every seven hours like the month before. Looking sane was easier now.

There was an exercise Banner had taught him, something that helped him find his calm whenever the Hulk was getting a little to visual. Clint stepped back In his memory to pull out just the right questions Banner said he should review.

_First, say your name._

Hawkeye.

_Next, what you do._

I am an agent of SHIELD. An avenger.

_Third, repeat a simple mantra_. _It could be anything really. Words you like, things that describe you. Whatever helps capture your focus._

Hawkeye. Avenger. Top shot. Archery. Good guy.

The three steps complete, he took a deep breath, puffed his breath out through his inflated lungs, and let his normally tense shoulders slouch forward. Somehow the routine actually made him feel better. The ghosts of the men he killed faded out of his mind and suddenly he saw the world more clearly. He had to hand it to Banner, he it did help.

_"Barton?"_

A voice came over his ear piece and Hawkeye jumped to answer it. He tried not to sound overly ecstatic about having some sort of attention his way. "Sir?"

_"Got a quick job for you if you're up for a little less brooding and a little more action."_

Barton had to restrain his want to sprint the whole way to command. Instead he sat a little straighter and tried not to sound like a lost soul. "Anything you need sir."

_"Mr. Stark is currently being detained in that bird you're parked on and if you haven't heard him screaming so far I'd be shocked. Please do the free world a favor and deliver him, preferably alive, to the state summit in Amsterdam." _Director Fury's voice carried to his headset.

Suddenly his joy at being useful deflated into an unhappy smothering of going from ace assassin to Stark's baby sitter. Perhaps deflated was too simple a term. Could squashed like an ant under the Hulk's middle toe serve a better example? Probably so.

"What do you say? Hawk?"

Hawkeye looked out over the bow again, weighing his limited options. Sure being stuck in a cabin with Stark wasn't his idea of a decent time, but what else was he going to do? Sit there and brood like a pigeon?

"Copy, sir, will do." What the hell? Why not go along and get some fresh air? "Is alive actually an option?"

"_Use your discretion. Breathing is necessary, otherwise I will leave Mr. Stark in your capable hands."_

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So, this book is already done being written, and depending on how much you review or like it is how quickly i'll post the follow-up chapters. book is about 23,000 words in length, longer then i planned!

So, review please!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note:** _Thanks SO much to my wonderful reviewers, i couldn't keep up with all the personal e-mails, so I'm doing a massive thanks to everyone who was brave enough to say a howdey-do! In 2 hours of posting I had a record breaking 500 unique visitors to the first chapter alone! And only thirty or so left a review :(, but still, thanks!_

**Author Aside: This is totally NOT a plug but a serious answer to a LOT of people's requests!** _Many have PM'd me or said in a review that they're curious about the book I've recently had published, so for all of those, here's the skinny! It's available for download through Barns and under the title Foxflight. It's an e-book available in first-eddition format until i have it officially released and professionally eddited. So, if you want my basic storyline with the occasional grammer mistakes, feel free to check it out!_

**Special Thanks:** _a reviewer (so sorry forgto your name JUST now) pointed out a funny mistake i made between the spelling of rouge and rogue, i fixed it, LOL!_

* * *

**Lithium Hawkeye**

Author: PeechTao

_Chapter 2_

Contrary to belief, Hawkeye had not heard Stark being dragged into the plane until Fury mentioned it. It was kind of like ignoring a person coughing, or a faint buzzing sound until someone else pointed it out. Now that Fury clued him in, Clint had to agree that Tony was making a good deal of racket. The archer slid down from his seat on the transport plane and headed for the on ramp.

The Iron Man was in handcuffs. Or, handcuff as it were. His right hand was angled over his head and locked to a steel pipe that was barely small enough to fit the cuff around to the first notch. Tony's wrist was more then adequately squeezed to prevent his slipping out by mistake or otherwise. Clint's trained eyes didn't miss the fact that no pointy objects lay around him for easy access either.

Thor stood back, admiring this handiwork while Stark was educating him on the latest and greatest obscenities from at least five different continents. Well, some he may have made up.

"You are increasingly warm to me." Thor admitted, grinning widely which only served to set Stark off more. "I feel we could be great friends one day, Man of Iron."

"Seriously, you start talking about some magical unicorn land with Fabio guys riding magical hammers and I am so done. Honestly, why can't I just fly myself, I mean," he jingled the cuffs harshly. "Is this really necessary? Come on Birdman, help me out on this."

Hawkeye, newly reined into the conversation had been wondering this to himself, however, being as he desired to be anywhere _but_ in the middle of the ocean twiddling his thumbs, he didn't immediately question it.

"It has become apparent that the Man of Iron will likely not go if the decision be left to his own devices." Thor explained without prompting.

Hawkeye shrugged and looked at Stark.

"A valid point, but irrelevant. I don't even really need to go anyway! Just because a secretary of state summons you, does not necessarily mean you are obligated to-"

"I'll take it from here, thanks." Hawkeye said to his large friend. Thor raised his hammer for a quick tip of the hat and he disappeared out of the back of the plane.

Clint hid his self-smile from Tony as he passed by the man and sunk into the pilot's seat. The good thing about these Archangels vs their typical Quinjet models was its ease of use. Clint wouldn't think of taking the Quinjet out without someone sitting beside him in the vacant copilot's chair. The Archangel may have been less advanced, without all the SHIELD bells and whistles, but she held her own with a minimal crew detail.

"Barton, at least uncuff me, really, is this the safest mode of travel for flight? You're supposed to, you know, strap me in and tell me to keep my tray table folded up." Tony was bickering behind Clint's back; it made it easier for the archer to ignore him.

"It's safest for me." Barton said with a grin. "Besides, Thor didn't leave me the key to those cuffs, so my guess is its waiting for you in Amsterdam. So, what do you think? Take the scenic route or fly direct."

With the look of concentrated evil shot at him from his good friend, Barton assumed that whichever way was fastest was the only direction that mattered. He tapped his headset, radioed his go-orders through central command and within minutes they were on their way.

:-)

He hadn't seen it coming. They dropped out of the sky like ungodly horrors from a land of Thor's own mental creation. He never even captured a glimpse of them. Never the sight of a wing, the stray trail of tell-tale jet streams, nothing that would indicate that anything beside the single Archangel was flying through the airspace off the coast of Africa.

Hawkeye, renowned for seeing absolutely everything that no one else ever thought to see, missed them. That was the first psychic blow. When the shots started he was so preoccupied with at least seeing who was after them that he ignored the fact that Tony had no protection whatsoever. It would have taken Hawkeye half a second to pick the lock on the cuff, but he hadn't. He did nothing but become suddenly obsessed with looking, finding, shooting, and killing. He felt the icy coldness of Loki's mind control tick through the beat of his heart. There was something else too, some deep-seeded anger pushing up through the masked emotions.

He had to see them. He just had to see them!

And suddenly, all of that changed. Clint wasn't sure how they had gotten his position so fast, but suddenly the entire dashboard flared red and orange in a kaleidoscope of warning lights. Frantically he began to flick switches, pulling on the yoke to bring the ship about and get a better read on their position. According to the readouts fifteen unknown bogeys were about to get very personal, and not in a good way.

Stark stood, where he had been standing for the past two hours, just behind the pilots chair complaining about his wrist, the cuffs, the trip, or his need to pee only now he wasn't complaining. He was shut up tighter then a drum, rapidly analyzing all the data as it fired into them.

Hawkeye jammed the yoke forward and yanked a hard right then shot the plane straight into the sky in hopes of getting a weapon lock on the unknowns.

"Ones coming up on you!" Tony shouted, he stretched forwards, straining to reach even a toe against a panel in order to help. Hawkeye instead jammed the button Tony went for himself and a starburst of anti missile jettisons hit the air.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Even in the steep climb, something was already above them, hiding in the sunlight and waiting for the chance to shoot. The cockpit was riddled with gunfire. Tony dove behind the captain's chair in an effort to protect himself but half his body remained exposed and strapped over his head by the metal pipe he was mentally slamming against Thor's head. The bullets weren't the cutesy little berretta or even Magnum PI variety. They were massive anti-aircraft logs being hurdled through every available wall port.

Tony felt the ship lurch and sputter as one of the engines blew out in a fire ball. Another ceaseless round of gunfire followed and suddenly the left side of his face exploded with red. Out of reflex he flew backward, uttering a cry of shock as his free left hand flew up to inspect the damage. All of him was freaking out, terrified that half of his face was gone, his eye was hanging by a thin thread down his cheek, shrapnel was heading to his brain. He was going to die.

_He was going to die._

A gargled cry came from the pilot as the ship made another dramatic lurch. Now with only a single sputtering engine keeping them afloat, Hawkeye was doing all he could to provide a soft landing that didn't have them sinking to the bottom of the ocean. That margin between a survivable landing and a burning crash of death was beginning to close quickly until all that remained was to hold on tight and pray for the best.

The warning claxon never stopped until the third wave of gunfire took it out along with half of Clint's chair. Since he had more pressing things to worry about, Clint tried his best to ignore it. He shrugged out of his safety harness and fought his slipping consciousness and the haze of red staining the cloud of his vision.

Behind him, Tony had inspected his eye with all the trepidation of probing what remained of a removed tooth. He was shocked to find out that his eye was not only properly positioned but the pain he imagined faded away to nothing. He was fine. Tony let out a cry of joy, and frantically wiped his face off to be sure it was true. But then a more pressing thought occurred to him. If he wasn't bleeding, who was?

Tony's head turned up, to inspect the hole a few centimeters from where his head had rested. From its red rimmed core he could see all the way to the front windshield from whence it originated. The only thing that could have slowed its path was the body sitting in the captain's chair.

"Oh my God." Stark whispered as the realization at last struck him. He pulled himself up by his shackled hand and thrust himself as far forward as possible to look at Clint Barton better.

The pilot was flushed and pale all at once. His knuckles were solid white bones attached to the yoke as if their lives depended on it. Actually their lives did depend on him. Another gripping feature Stark found was the blood red hole seeping from his chest.

"Clint..." Stark drawled, his worry expounding exponentially.

"Shut up. I'm trying ta... to focus." Clint snapped back. His body folded in half, his shoulders nearly pressed against the dashboard as he attempted to remain in control of their epic freefall through the sky. He was trying to pull the nose up, doing everything he could to keep the ship flying. The indicator that read altitude was dropping like a horse off of a diving board. The airplane silhouette on a background of black was listing to a hard right, the engines and stabilizers shot beyond repair.

"You've got to bail out." Tony said. When it was apparent Clint was not listening, he said it louder. "Barton, pull the cord, we are crashing, and we are going to die! Bail out!"

"Cant." Barton grunted out. He wasn't even sure if the ejector would work at this point, but there was no way he was just going to let the ship tailspin into the ocean with Tony inside. They wouldn't even be in this mess if Clint hadn't spent so much time proving he could see everything, and more time on getting the Hell out of danger. "Not leaving. Hold on to something!"

"Hold on to what?" Stark screamed. "Blondie strapped me to the roof!"

Clint's eyes closed for a fraction of a second, enough to let Tony know that indeed things were about to get much, much worse. He ducked again, holding on to the back of Clint's chair with one arm as he hoped to God his other arm wasn't ripped off in the crash.

Clint fought to force his eyes open. With everything he had, he propped his legs on the dashboard, pushed back, and twisted to bring the ship level as the ground came rushing up impossibly fast. A rasping roar erupted from his throat as Tony couldn't hold back his own cry of terror as the ship hit.

The plane skipped across a torrent of water, flooding the windshields until the already spider webbed glass crashed inward. The ship hit an outcropping, spinning it end over end as Clint was hurled from his seat and across the side of the cockpit. Tony too was ripped from his grip on the back of the chair and was sent cart-wheeling around his trapped arm in the back of the cabin.

After the initial water rush came the sand pouring through ever available orifice as the ship finely lost momentum and skidded to a halt upside down. The passenger seat dislodged and fell sideways to the form shoved below it. Stark slammed against a console, his arm left in a twisted heap beside him as his consciousness fled away.

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oooohh, danger trickles in! LOL, know the drill, keep reviewing and i'll keep up the fast updates. Any slackers out there, and I can hold out for SIX months. muhahahahahahaha! did i mention i'm evil?

like it? hate it? send me a review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks SO much for the feedback (will fix that mistake in chapter 2, thanks for the pointer!) you've all been so great to me:) so, here you go!**

**Author:** PeechTao

**Lithium Hawkeye**

_Chapter 3_

Dead. Every consol, every piece of controls, even the blinking hazard lights had gone out in the moments after the crash. Something smelled like fire, either already blown out or still festering, waiting to expand and suck the oxygen from the air until the two occupants were deader then they already were.

Tony Stark was the first to stir to life. He jockeyed a little in the spot on the floor he had crumbled to. A quick mental survey helped him figure out what systems may have been irreparably damaged in the crash. His arm was the top of the list.

He pushed himself up slowly with his left arm and felt a slab of the sheet metal that was once part of the floor slide off his back. That he could tell, nothing was bleeding yet. His cuffed arm was twisted behind him and it took a good deal of jockeying to get it back in front of him. The bar he'd been attached to now lay at his feet in a writhing heap. Two metal clamps kept it braced to the walls like the steel cage of a race car. It may have been what kept the entire cabin from collapsing in on itself, but what it boasted in fortitude it lacked in cooperation. Tony was still trapped by the blasted thing on one side of his cuffs and by his swollen wrist on the other. The same wrist was looking alarmingly inflated and broken and unhappy and painful.

"Ugh, this is not good." Stark complained to himself. He had seen a movie once where a prisoner took his boot and crushed every bone in his hand in order to escape a pair of cuffs. He hoped it would not come to that, but kept the option in the far back of his mind just incase it became a necessity.

"Yo, Feathers, you ok?" Tony called into the dark. He looked forward, the probably location of Clint Barton.

He didn't receive an answer.

"Great. Just when things could get any peachier, they get really flipping interesting!" Tony complained to himself. As if in response another floor tile fell from what was now their ceiling and hit the pile of circuits, chairs, and sand that was gathered in the first row of the plane. It was 10 to 1 that Hawkeye was smashed somewhere under all that crap, and Tony couldn't stretch his free arm far enough to reach much more then the edge of the tile. He decided to switch tactics. Instead of going at the mess with his hands, he was going to try and kick some of the bits and pieces over with his feet. So, with various gears, switches, and knobs borrowing a groove into his back, he turned himself around and started to lift things slowly away between the pincers he made of his feet. Piece by piece he grasped with one foot, then another and jockeyed it into a new pile on a consul not far away. It was painstakingly slow, and more then once did Tony have to stop completely and give his exhausted body a second to suck in air. At last, he caught site of something that made his blue heart jump.

Clint's hand was pale as death itself, sandwiched between exposed circuits of a shot up panel and the headrest of the copilot's chair. Tony didn't miss the fact that all three were covered in blood. Clint's blood.

"Barton? Clint, talk to me! Can you hear me?" Tony became desperate. He twisted his body and horse kicked the chair out of his way when it refused to budge. All he could see was the bleeding torso, the shot to the ribs that created the gaping hole in the captain's chair. Blood pooled around the control panels, tainting everything red and perfuming the air with bittersweet copper. Clint was folded against the bottom of the windshield and the top of the forward controls. What wasn't dripping in blood was soaked in sea water and sand. Glass shreds embedded into his pants and what Tony could see of his shirt. His face and shoulders were out of view.

If he tried his hardest and stretched his broken wrist to the limits, Stark could just get his shoe touching Hawkeye's leg. He tried a little nudge at first, just enough to get some sound out of his friend. When that provided disappointingly little, he gave a kick. The power behind it was relatively ineffective. He was too far away to give a better go at hurting his friend into waking.

"HAWKEYE!" Tony shouted at the top of his lungs, kicking and pounding at his friend's leg like a wild man. "WAKE UP RIGHT NOW YOU SORRY SON OF A B-!" Tony stretched to his limits, gritting his teeth in pain and kicking like a soccer player possessed at the same time.

A gargled cry fell out of the body he was abusing.

"Clint? Clint can your hear me? Say something!"

What Stark could see of his friend began to contract, sucking into itself as if he would at any moment implode. The pale hand Stark had been focusing on curled up like the legs of a dead spider and pulled away from view, presumably up to Hawkeye's face. The body rolled onto its stomach, then drew its legs forward into its chest and all at once the cabin echoed with the sounds of one man's horrid screams.

Stark wanted to peel his skin off. He wanted to crawl within himself and destroy everything about him that caused Thor to lock him up in the first place. He wanted to snatch off his shoes, smash his hand to nothing and free himself enough to grab Hawkeye in his arms and make the screaming stop. But he did _nothing_. He was frozen in place as he fought to make his tongue work unintelligible gibberish into words.

"Clint, I'm still here. Ok? I can't get to you, but I'm here. Do you hear me? It's going to be all right. I promise it's all right. Can you hear me? Do you understand? It's ok."

The screams stopped for a moment, the writhing, contorting body paused. "Stark." Came the pathetic, strained voice.

"Yes?" Tony said instantly, willing to do whatever it took to get his friend through the pain. "What do you want me to do? I can't get to you, but I might be able to throw something, or push it over, whatever you need, tell me, ok? Clint? Are you still there?"

It was a long moment before Hawkeye could muster the strength to speak again. In the lull between words came the disjointed grunts and heaves of a damaged man. At last, a voice filled the quiet void.

"Shut the hell up...for...for a minute and le-let me think."

"Shut up, ok. I can do that. Ok." Tony replied. After repeating the same thing a few dozen times, he realized he was still talking and finely did shut up.

Besides the grunting, writhing, and occasionally declaration of pain Hawkeye was quietly trying to collect the shattered pieces of being he had been reduced to. Normally his control was better then this. _He_ was better then this. It wasn't as if he had never been shot before, because he certainly had, and usually around or by Natasha. But something much worse had happened. His mind was thrown into a tailspin. He was Loki's once more and his mind filled with the men whom he killed. Their accusing faces floating in and out of his mind like horrid demons. He closed his eyes, bracing against the overwhelming feelings of uselessness. His mind floated back, back, to the moment it all began to unravel.

_Focus._ Hawkeye told himself.

_My name: Hawkeye. My profession: SHIELD agent, and Avenger. Mantra: Hawkeye. Avenger. Top shot. Archer. Good guy_.

**Again.**

_Hawkeye. SHIELD agent. Avenger. Hawkeye. Avenger. Top shot. Archer. Good guy._

**AGAIN.**

"Hawkeye. SHIELD agent. Avenger. Hawkeye. Avenger. Top shot. Archer. Good guy." He whispered as the fabrics of his reality began to close. The gaps in his shattered focus came together and sealed across careful suture lines he mentally sewed closed again. Suddenly the pain began to ebb, his calm returned. His eyelids flipped open to survey the state of things around him.

"Nice little diddy you've got there." Stark said.

Hawkeye swallowed back a spasm as he remembered Stark's presence. That did not figure into his attempt at calm and took a moment to retie the fabric of that reality. "Banner says it works." He whispered, unable to manage more then that.

"Hmm. Should try that myself one day." Stark replied.

Hawkeye uttered a small groan as he attempted to rearrange the mash of limbs he pulled into himself. He felt dizzy, lightheaded and suddenly horridly nauseous. Before he could take a moment to register the last word he was already tilting forward and vomiting against the headrest of the captain's chair. The contraction racked the hole drilled through his chest and brought another more serious spasm that lasted over a minute.

Tony was silent, listening as his friend went through the motions of being sick and attempted not to listen. He was not about to upchuck himself and if Tony allowed himself to think about it that is exactly what would happen. A few minutes later the awful sounds finely ceased.

Tony waited, then opened his mouth to speak. "Barton? Hey you still with me?"

"Emm fine..."

"You certainly are a fine specimen of a man but fine health wise you definitely are not. I'll prove it. Give me a kiss."

"Ughfh..."

"See, if you were fine, you would have socked me across the face. I am left unblemished."

"..."

"Barton? Are you still with me?"

Barton was panting in shallow, fast breaths. He couldn't think about how bloody his breakfast looked the second time around, or how truly terrified he was when he thought about how his blood got four feet away and splattered the wall. "Not doing too hot." Barton settled on admitting.

"I assumed that." Stark replied. "Clint I cant reach you, so you are going to have to get your butt back here if I'm going to help you."

Clint's eyes squeezed shut as he fought the sea of pain flowing into his chest. Moving was the last thing on his mind right now and he was not about to circumvent another thrilling wave of vomit. "Don't think that's gonna happen." He whispered, hoping he didn't have to repeat himself louder in two seconds.

"What?" Tony asked.

Hawkeye groaned into his shoulder.

"Look, Sharpeye, I cant do crap right now. I'm still stuck to this bloody," there was a crash as Tony apparently punched the pipe brace. "Pipe. So either you sit there by yourself and bleed to death or you get over here and let me help you. Got it?"

"No." Hawkeye whispered disdainfully to himself. But, knowing Tony couldn't hear him continued on as Stark suggested. Now, he could stay shoved up under the windshield like a ten year old with a bad dream, or he could move. When the idea of the former sent up a wave of memories to horrid to think of, he decided he had to move. He unburied his head from his shoulder and looked around the immediate area. He couldn't see Stark face to face, the top of the captain's chair was in his way. But he had the feeling if he sat up and twisted then he may be able to shimmy between the side of the chair, the overhead switches, and the broken floor paneling. He attempted the feat, getting his elbows under him and pushing himself up on his hands. The wave of shock that hit his system was worse then the initial shot. He crashed onto his back, muffling his scream between pressed lips.

"Easy!" Tony called as if it wasn't an obvious precaution to take. "Don't sit up, look just swing your legs toward me, ok? Once you get close enough I'll just drag you the rest of the way. Got it? Hawkeye?"

"Ye-yeah, I got it." Clint replied. He untangled his legs from each other and tried to do as Tony instructed. He hooked his feet against the random pile of junk shifted off of his unconscious body and used the leverage to turn himself in Tony's direction. Now their feet were facing each other at least.

Tony tried his hardest to keep his face from reflecting the solid white he felt inside. Sure Clint looked like hell, he was expecting that. But the full assault of it hitting him was like a sock in the gut. Clint shuffled closer, army crawling backwards on his stomach with his elbows just high enough to keep the switches and gauges from probing his wound. Beside the gunshot through his chest, something, probably glass, had torn a gash from the side of his face and bit a half inch wedge in his ear. Given everything else wrong with him, Tony would be surprised if Clint even realized his face was cut at all.

Tony pin wheeled around his cuff again until he was half crouched, stretching forward to grab the back of Clint's pants. From there it was a tug of war against gravity to pull Clint close enough to do anything of use with his injury.

"Little closer." Tony said. "Just shuffled a little more. Ok, hang on a sec," he could reach Clint's shirt now and grabbed a hunk of it in his free hand, stuck one leg against the back of the captain's chair and yanked Clint the rest of the way into the back of the plane.

The simple task complete, the two sat for a moment, huffing for breath as Barton braced himself for what would inevitably come next. He coughed, which hurt, then gagged which hurt worse, and then rolled over to throw up where Tony wasn't looking.

It didn't matter; Stark didn't have to see it to feel the wave of bile rise in the back of his own throat. He stubbornly gulped it down, refusing to lose his breakfast. It may be the only food he could get for a while depending on how this whole thing panned out in the end.

"Clint, hang tight, I'm going to try to get a good look at you." Tony said in a tone meant to be reassuring. Frankly it sounded like he was scared out of his mind and too stupid to admit it to anyone but himself. He wasn't a doctor. He didn't even like doing the biomechanical medical things to his own bionic heart. What business did he have attempting to field dress a bullet hole? The negativity was getting him nowhere fast, so he tried his best to suck up his trepidation and do what had to be done.

Barton fell sourly onto his back, ignoring the pile of stomach contents he didn't leave beside him. He was losing a lot of blood. Way too much, way to fast. His body quaked like a meth addict going cold turkey. He couldn't stop himself from the feeling that his insides were freezing. Tony was saying something to him but he had little idea as to what that could possibly be. All he felt was the plane's weight shift, listing a little more left then it had before. Suddenly Stark's face was overshadowing his own. It floated there in space for a minute, the mouth moving to form unspoken words. The shades of black around the face closed in, and Hawkeye knew no more.

* * *

another cliffy! but pretty much all my chapters are cliff hangers. i'm liking the chapter-a-day updates, so may keep to this, my reviewers have been very nice in their cooperation! so, there's that little reward.


	4. Chapter 4

Ok, so right after i said i would be doing daily updates, i come across this chapter which is SO much longer then the others that it would be mean to update really soon after posting it. so, expect the next chapter saturdayish, thanks!

**Author:** PeechTao

**Lithium Hawkeye**

_Chapter 4_

"Don't do that, Clint don't do, don't die on me! Do you hear me? I'm sure I'm superior agent or whatever else to you, so that's and order! Clint Barton!" Tony was shaking the man furiously with one hand, attempting to elicit any response he could. But Hawkeye wasn't reciprocating. When Stark put his fingers to the man's neck and mentally braced himself to start giving the _man_-kiss-of-life, he realized that all his antics were for nothing. Hawkeye wasn't dead, not yet, but he wasn't good either.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Tony took the time allotted to him and scanned Barton for the most critical injuries. As initially suspected it was the bullet hole that proved most problematic. It was seated right at his last ribs, and made a clean circle of bullet trail out his back, dangerously close to his spine. It was impossible to know what damage had been done, but his breathing seemed all right for now, a little fast, like his heart rate. His legs were obviously working too. But everything else about him was completely white. Not just spent to long in a cave white, the usually tannest member of the Avengers was nearly the same shade as a stack of copy paper. The blood trail from the front seats said all he really needed to know. If the blood didn't stop, Hawkeye was as good as dead.

At first Tony did the first thing that came to his mind. He ripped off his own short jacket, meaning to peal off his shirt and use it in strips as a tourniquet. When it was obvious that he couldn't possibly get his own shirt off without first chopping off his swollen hand, he stopped to assess the situation further. Hawkeye was still shaking with little more to cover him then the single ridiculous black tank top he never seemed to be without. The last thing Stark wanted was to take that from him. But what other option did he have?

"Yup, I'm going to kill him. Not sure how I'll do it, but that overgrown blond oaf is going to find himself sinking to the bottom of the ocean with that hammer of his strapped around his neck." Stark grumbled to himself under his breath as he worked one-handed to remove Clint's shirt from over his head. It was harder then he thought. First, Clint's arms didn't want to cooperate, then the shirt got stuck up in a ball under his arm pits and wouldn't flip over his head. There was no good way for Tony to brace himself against his friend to have his feet give him better leverage to get the shirt off. He used his fingers, flipped around and pulled from the back, then he tried standing up and pulling from over Clint's head, he even went so far as to grab the shirt with his teeth as his only hand worked on fitting Clint's arms through the bloody holes, but that proved as lifeless an effort as the body he was trying to strip. Tony collapsed against the deck in a disgruntled heap. His good fist came down on a mash of gears with a metallic clang as the ruined equipment suffered the wrath of his frustration. Could anything go easy? Anything? Exhausted physically, and overpowered emotionally, Stark laid against the switchboard beside Clint's legs.

Frustration was boiling into desperate panic. He felt his blood beginning to race, as his heart palpated with the claws of terror shredding beneath his skin. He had to wrap the wound. If he didn't, Clint was going to die. And it was all Tony's fault. If he hadn't been so untrustworthy, if Thor hadn't felt the need to handcuff him to the only stable part of the ship that could suffer a plane crash and remain intact, then Barton wouldn't be in half the danger he already was suffering through. It wasn't Thor's fault, Tony mulled over in his mind, this was his own fault. Only his.

The thought of him being the sole person to stand in front of Black Widow and report he had let Clint suffer to death while he sat back and did absolutely nothing, was enough to get Tony moving again.

He sat up and looked around again to determine something he could use, either to tie around Clint's body or to pick the lock on the cuffs. Lock picks were plentiful. Every circuit board was infused with wires of all shapes and kinds he could manipulate into a pick. Getting that to work in anyway on his handcuff was a different matter. Billionaire playboy philanthropist he was, master escape artist, not so much. He stripped the switch panels with his bare hands, pulling out rubber coated copper wire in various degrees, sizes, and support. He tried the larger ones first, slipping in thinner, tougher wire beside them. He flicked, twisted, gyrated, shimmied, pushed, pulled, anything to get the lock to snap open. After nearly ten minutes of swearing every letter of the alphabet forward and backward he tossed his lock-breaking kit away in not-so-silent frustration.

His protest was enough that even the unconscious Clint began to stir. Tony was already crouched beside him. His left knee was anchored over Clint's chest. There it was pressing the only thing Tony could get off, his right sock, over the bullet wound. It wasn't an ideal situation, but it was better then watching his friend bleed to death.

:-)

Clint's eyes flipped open. His innate senses took in the sight in a single terrifying sweep. His shirt was pulled up almost over his head. Tony Stark was crouched over him. One knee mounted over his chest, Tony's hand was reaching for something.

Frightened that Stark had somehow lost his mind, Clint drew what reserve energy he had and pushed Tony off of him. "What the Hell! Get off me, you perve!" he shouted.

"Stop it, Pinkeye!" Tony countered. "This is for your own good! Knock it off!"

The two of them sparred for a moment, a fight that was lacking in everything that made it fair. Tony had one arm literally tied up, Clint was unable to do much but push Tony away with a weak hand as he strove to pull his shirt back on.

"God, Clint, I'm not trying to rape you!" Tony shouted, the hilarity of it was enough to break even his tense mood. He couldn't keep his more playful side from erupting. "You're such an idiot, now take your shirt off and let daddy take a look!"

Clint wasn't sure what twisted part of his mind had brewed the scenario, but one never knew with Stark. The biting comment had made him think twice, though. He stopped fighting and lay there taking in the scene all over again. Suddenly things fell into place a little easier.

Feeling the tension seeping out of him, Stark relaxed a little also. He exchanged the knee he had over Clint's chest with his free hand. At least that looked a little less like he was prepared to mount an assault. He cracked a grin, never one to pass up a good opportunity.

"Besides, Clint, your not my type. I'm more of a Captain America guy myself, those spangely leotards just hits me right here." He tapped the ARC reactor on his chest with a dreamy sort of smile. "Ah, the things that man could do with his hands!"

Clint almost laughed, but the jarring motion caused a wave of dulling pain to flare up. He stopped himself halfway. "Don't make me… laugh…" he almost gasped, his face screwing up.

At that statement the first thing Tony could think to do was exactly the opposite. "Don't even get me started on Fury. You know, when they say one-eyed-snake, I never knew they meant—"

Clint snorted, his body shuddering with the need to laugh and cry all at once. His hand reflexively went to his chest, as if holding it together may keep him from splitting apart. Tony already had that covered himself though, for all the good it did him. "Stop, Tony, I'm begging . . . it hurts . . . stop."

"All right, all right you pansy. Can't handle the truth, I see how it is. Here I am bursting to come out and I get shut down. I get it."

Clint grasped Tony's arm with his hand, the look on his face begging for reprieve. "For the love of God, stop."

Tony just smiled, a wide toothy grin and nodded his head. "Ok, I promise." They sat in silence for a moment, taking in the totality of the silence around them. Laughter had died to an overwhelming quiet. Tony couldn't handle that for long at all, and soon was back talking again. "How you feeling?"

"Like Hell." Clint admitted.

That was a change, usually if he admitted his pinkie hurt his shoulder was dislocated. Or if he stubbed a toe, then his femur was busted in five places, sticking out of his thigh, and he'd tied a hanky to it. Clint had already admitted twice he wasn't doing so hot for this reason, the admission was more then enough to get Stark struggling with his busted wrist again.

"Hang on a sec, let me just figure out how to get this stupid cuff off—" Tony knew his wrist was broken, if not in the crash, then everything he'd done to get it free since. Already the tips of his fingers had gone a little blue as the swelling increased and his hand was slowly losing both feeling and blood flow. He had ceased to feel the pain in it any longer. Perhaps that was for the better, given the circumstances.

Clint looked over, his own hand holding down the soaked sock that was still keeping him alive. Just seeing the state of Iron Man's hand was enough to quicken his already overburden heart rate. "You haven't gotten that off yet?" He asked.

"If I had, then you wouldn't still be wearing a shirt right now." Tony fired back.

Clint wasn't sure if it was just the blood loss, or if Tony's answer really didn't make any sense. Rather then reopen that can of worms, he made a simple offering.

"I can pick that."

Tony paused. He looked down at Clint. "What?"

"I can," Clint tried pushing himself up a little, enough to let his body be braced by the kicked-around copilot's chair behind him. "I can pick that. I'm good at lock-picking."

Tony looked like he wanted to cry.

"Don't just si—sit there. Help me up."

Stark scrambled to his knees and hooked his free arm beneath Clint's arm pits and scooted him back against the chair. Anyone listening may have assumed a football team was in the process of pushing its stadium across state lines. The struggle took nearly five minutes of adjusting before Clint was in an easy enough position to _not _pass out _and_ to lean forward _and_ work at the lock at the same time. Tony was supporting him with his chest, unable to crane his neck and look down to what Clint was doing to get the cuffs apart.

"Can we both agree to never tell anyone about this part?" Stark asked.

Clint, braced against Tony, had his head hanging over the Iron Man's shoulder with both his hands wrapped around Tony's back to reach the handcuff. At Stark's question, he muffled a chuckle. "Two men, set of handcuffs, alone on the beach . . . Here I thought you were all about compromising situations."

"Yeah, with ladies, make with the lock picking, Pinkeye."

"So all that talk about the Captain was just a tease?" Hawkeye went on, "I'm feeling a little disappointed."

"Boy, can you be a bottle of mixed emotions." Stark retorted.

"Look whose talking, billionaire _bisexual_ philanthropist. What would Pepper think. We can't keep this love a secret forever."

"You know, I think I might just prefer to stay locked up if I have to listen to your mouth for another three minutes. Are you done yet?"

"Relax, I've done this a million times as a kid. Family always gave me a reason to get cuffs off my wrist before something bad happened."

Stark chuckled a little. "And here I thought you were a goody-goody. What did you do, steal cars?"

Clint's body had stiffened and suddenly the tension was back again, like a massive wall had been mortared between them and there was no way Tony could get through it. He was about to say something when:

"Ow!" Stark pulled back as a sudden pain flared up his arm like a forest fire. Clint had only enough time to fall back against the chair before Stark's body leaped away from his own. Iron Man stalked around the cabin as if the faster he moved, the less his wrist would hurt. He tucked the freed limb against his stomach and cradled it with the other but the intensity only grew. When was the last time he'd actually broken something more then a digit? Fourth grade maybe? He didn't remember fracturing his wrist hurting this much when he was ten, but memories do have a way of screwing up a person's mind.

"It's the blood flow." Tony heard Clint's voice reaching him from some, very distant, place. "Give it a minute. Feel better."

Stark tried crouching in place, but when that didn't help him focus, he started pacing again. Then he bashed his forehead a few times against the closest wall. Head banging helped marginally, but not nearly enough. In the end he just stood there, a shaking, blithering mass as he waited for the pain to finally ebb away.

Clint considered him silently, watching his friend go through all the motions of adjusting. He had no idea Tony's hand was that bad. If he had, he would have insisted on picking the lock long before. How he could have done it, Clint wasn't sure. Until now it was a struggle to remain conscious for more then three consecutive minutes. Even now he felt the tendrils of overwhelming exhaustion eating at the edges of his vision, but he fought them off this time. This was only step one. Tony was free, that helped. But the facts remained that they had crash landed six hours before they were even going to be reported missing. Tony could probably hold out that long, but Clint?

Then there were the memories. They crashed through his brain like a tsunami. He'd gone too far with Tony. He'd taken himself back to a memory and a place he'd kept locked up for so long from everyone, even Natasha. Home. Family. Life before SHIELD. It was like reliving Loki all over again. In fact, it was just like it. He closed his eyes for a moment, not allowing the panic to overtake him.

"Hawkeye. I am an agent of SHIELD. An Avenger. Hawkeye. Avenger. Top shot. Archery. Good guy." Clint whispered to himself. He tried to inhale as large a breath as his busted body would allow, then slowly released it through his nose. He felt the calm edge its way back in.

"Iron Man."

Clint opened his eyes, staring at Tony who was sitting against the wall he had previously been thrusting his head into. The man was sweating, shaking, his face was white in shock. But his mouth was moving, as if a response to Clint's whisper.

"Iron Man." He repeated. "I am a freelance of SHIELD. An Avenger. Iron Man. Physicist. ARC Reactor. Ok guy." He then inflated his lungs and let the breath out with a slow huff.

Clint cracked a grin. "Hey, that's my coping mechanism. Get your own."

Tony tried to smile in response. "Sorry. I kinda like it. Somewhat effective, though it is probably just a psychosomatic response intended on taking one's mind off the present issues with—"

"Tony?"

Stark's eyes flicked to him.

"You're ruining it."

"Sorry." Stark apologized. Then, realizing what terrible word he just said, corrected himself. "I didn't mean that."

"Sure. How's the arm?"

"Feels like a ticking crocodile just chomped off the end of it. How's the chest?"

"I think I have another half hour, most, and then I may feel like dying. Is my face bleeding?" Hawkeye's hand went up to his cheek to dab at the crater ripped through it. Though with the blood already staining his hands, he could not decipher the presence of a second injury or not.

Tony shrugged a little. "Nothing that makes me think any less of your good looks."

"Oh my God, what happened to my ear?" Clint said in a panic now as his hand skimmed over the obvious opening.

"I'm sure we'll find it someplace." Tony lied.

"But its gone! Like, a huge piece is gone!"

"Focus on your breathing. Think about butterflies and Rhomanov in a thong." Tony replied.

Clint stopped probing his face for fear of what else he may find missing. Instead he rubbed the space between his eyes. A headache was forming from some concussion he was sure he had formed. "Well," he said, "Now what? We can't just stay here."

"You're not going anywhere." Tony replied matter-of-factly.

Clint starred at him, his hand dropping back to help his other keep pressure on his gunshot wound. "No, really? I thought I'd go for a hike or collect some firewood or something."

"Well, perish the thought." Tony replied. He seemed to have regained his composure enough to sit up again. The color returned to his face, and even though his hand still felt like he had closed his fist on a firecracker, it _was_ a little better. Clint had raised a valid point. They couldn't just sit there forever hoping that somehow they would eventually be rescued. There was no telling if SHIELD even knew the plane had gone down. And if that was so, rescue was not coming any time soon. For Tony, that was doable. For Clint, it was going to be fatal.

"How many times do I have to save your life today, mortal human?" Tony growled as he tried to pull himself to his feet.

Clint chuckled, enough to be understood, not enough to hurt himself again. "Hey, I don't see a suit on you. So you are just as boringly human as me."

"If they let me fly myself, we wouldn't be in this mess." Stark grumbled.

"If they thought you would go willingly, neither of us would be in this mess." Clint pointed out.

Stark said nothing, Clint had only confirmed the truth that he had been beating himself up over for the past hour.

"So what are we going to do?"

The Iron Man strolled around to the front of the cabin, looking up at the radio equipment that had been destroyed by gunfire, then down at the backup equipment that had been crushed in the crash. The monitors were spattered in blood. The floor was covered in blood. Vomit coated the upper dashboard. "Crap, you sure made a mess up here, didn't you?" Tony commented.

"Sorry." Clint replied. Talking was beginning to tire him out again, and he did not want to leave Tony thinking with no one to bounce ideas off of. Clint was sure that was how the whole ARC reactor in his chest came about. If Clint decided to pass out now, Tony may just retrofit him with a targeting computer in his gut to reroute his blood by bionic systematic mumbo jumbo. And Clint really didn't feel like waking up a cyborg, if he woke up at all.

"Forget it, wasn't your fault." Tony replied off handed. He flicked a few switches he recognized as emergency backups. Then he tried the caution lights, running light, over head vents, anything that would run on battery backups and found the ship to not only be dead, but utterly depleted. That didn't bode well for getting the comms back on line. Or even the emergency beacon flashing. "Clint, you got that funny earpiece stuck in your head still?"

Clint had to think of that for a moment. After all, he passed out thinking his entire ear was still there, and see how that turned out? He reached up and felt around for it, either in his ear or nearby. He found it hanging down his back by its slim cord and nodded his head.

"Clint?" Tony turned around to look down at him. Suddenly the concern that had ebbed away through conversation spiked again. "Hey, you doing ok?"

"Ye—Yeah. I'm . . ." Clint closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. Tony was hunched in front of him, creases of worry marring his face. "I'm getting a lil tired's all."

Tony touched his face with the back of his hand, feeling for the fever that was sure to come at some point. All he felt was cold clamminess. He decided it was high time to do what he had planned on over half an hour ago now. Instead of forcing Clint's shirt off of him, Stark stripped off his jacket, then his _I'm a Pepper_ t-shirt. The latter he used the various shard edges in the cabin to tear into one long strip of fabric.

"Your favorite . . . shirt." Clint said with a weak smile. "You do care."

"Shut up. Stop talking." Tony replied.

"Prob . . . ably a med kit . . . someplace."

Tony swept a hand around the trashed cabin. "You wanna find it, Featherhead, have at it."

"Would my knife . . . help cu-cut it?" Clint asked, bringing his booted foot up to extract the navy knife he had hidden in his shoe.

Tony stared at him with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. "Now why didn't you tell me about that before?"

"Funnier to watch." Hawkeye said, grinning.

"I should just let you bleed to death." Tony grumbled, forcing Hawkeye forward so he could tie his bullet wound off. The bleeding had slowed, but hardly enough to cause Tony to relax at all. Hawkeye had stopped complaining about the pain, in fact it seemed like he hardly noticed it anymore. But that didn't mean he was out of danger.

When he finished strapping Hawkeye back together, Tony stood again and looked around the cabin for what he could use to immobilize his wrist. It wasn't doing him any good flopping around the place. And maybe if he braced it he could use it more then not. With the curtsey of Hawkeye's knife he shredded apart the nearest leather seat, and then broke a few of the already busted consoles into usable strips. One handed, he sat down and fussed with getting the pieces to fit together just right to form a temporary cast.

Hawkeye watched him, unable to do much else. The process was slow, even by snail standards. When he couldn't take it anymore, Clint finely spoke up. "Get over here." He said. "Let me tie it."

"How?" Tony challenged.

"I still have two . . . working hands." Clint replied, wriggling ten fingers in case Tony wanted to challenge that too. He waited a moment, pushed the exhaustion and pain away as he felt a second rallying wave of adrenaline start to kick in. His voice was stronger as a result. "And they're not busy keeping me from bleeding to death any more."

"Thank Pepper, she bought me that shirt." Tony replied. He sucked up his ideas of pride and sat down beside Clint again, holding out his wrist as if he was ten years old again. "Be gentle."

Clint pinched him.

Tony glared.

"Just checking." Clint replied, grinning.

"Some nurse you are." Stark accused. He sat stewing in his inability to help himself as Clint rather gently tied his wrist for him. He made the bandage tight, but not uncomfortable, the plastic was shoved between two layers to keep it rigid. When Clint finished tying it off, Tony sat back and looked at his handy work.

"Wow, not bad."

"That's my last trick." Clint replied.

"Where'd you learn to do it?" Stark couldn't help asking. He didn't exactly get brought up with the life skills of how to set a broken wrist with some strips of scrap parts and leather.

"Growing up." Clint replied. His eyes were closed again, but this time it seemed more like he was relieving a terrifying memory then shutting out a wave of pain. "He gave me lots of reason's to practice, you know? Young, in that kind of situation, there's not much a person can do but just figure out how to handle things alone."

Tony blinked, the information hitting him after a few moments. "Wait, what?"

"You know, I still miss him, my dad. But after everything that happened, after my mom and sister, my brother. I can't think much about them anymore. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore." Clint sighed.

Tony blinked at him. "Clint, what are you talking—"

"Tony, the radio?" Clint pointed out, changing the subject to something more pressing then his particular family issues. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him or why his mouth had run off. It had been over ten years, that trauma he should have been passed.

"Uh, right." Stark replied. Somewhere he made a mental note to restart that conversation. If Clint had opened up on some level about a past abuse, that meant he was probably ready to share it with someone. Anyone apparently if he was mentioning it to the likes of Tony Stark.

After all, Stark had read the guy's file. Mother and sister brutally raped and murdered before his eyes. Father killed by an unknown interest. It was general chatter Clint was the one who put the psychopath down. The Barton was never the most stable member of SHIELD, but he kept a tight lid on his past problems to keep himself running like a professional non-mental patient. All the trouble with Loki though got a lot of people worried that Clint would dredge up his old history and snap apart one day. Then with Coulsen's death hitting him worse of all, it was a recipe for utter catastrophe. Fury gave Clint more leave then anyone else. He blamed Clint's relative mortality, but everyone knew the truth. They were waiting for the kid to blow.

Tony worried that he was seeing the beginning stages of that exact moment, but he had to keep his cool. The conversation was for another time in the not-to-distant future. Stark wasn't about to let the guy crash and burn like everyone else was waiting for. But right now, they needed an escape hatch, not a group therapy session.

"Well, first of all, where are we? Do you know? Can I just open the door and borrow a cell phone?" Tony asked, moving to look out of the front windshield. He already knew his thought was unlikely. If anyone civilized was out there, they would have shown up when the plane hit the ground.

"Just past Cape of Good Hope." Hawkeye said. "Not quite to Nambia. Following the coast to Groot Karasberge."

"Is that in India?"

"Africa."

"Ah."

Well, that almost certainly ruled out human population of any assistance lending ability. Whoever wasn't an evil dictator was probably a poacher. And whoever wasn't an evil dictator or a poacher, must likely didn't care about two strangers falling out of the sky on the beach.

"Ok, so that means we have to get the radio to work." Stark said allowed, mostly to himself. "But how do we do that, without any battery power? There got to be something in here we can use to power at least a part of the systems. Maybe not the incoming radio, but the outgoing one. Did you say you have your earpiece?"

"Yeah."

Stark reached down and disentangled it. The battery pack had been attached to his waste band, but it now lay in a mess of busted parts. The battery was leaking acid, never a positive sign, but the earpiece seemed somewhat intact.

"Ok, so all I have to do is solder this little red wire to—" he yanked off the top of a switchboard and pulled a handful of mechanical guts out. "To this little green wire, cross the switches there and there and find us a battery source and we are good to go."

Clint held up two fingers.

"What?" Tony asked.

So Clint elaborated. "One, you can't solder anything without a soldering gun. Two, what power source?"

"Both valid concerns, and the answer is I don't have an answer to that. It's what we have to do. So start thinking, I already used up my bag of tricks the last time I was stuck in a crappy desert in the middle of nowhere—" Stark halted abruptly, then looked down at his bare chest and the ARC reactor nestled safely in it.

"Genius." Stark muttered.

"Tony?"

Now Iron Man was a blur of movement. He used Clint's knife to start stripping down wires, grabbing spare pieces from trashed instruments beside him. He wasn't sure why he hadn't considered this already. Maybe that crash had jostled things around a little in his head too.

"Tony?" Clint said again, sitting up a little desperately.

"It's easy. I'll just twist these together and the ARC will pulse the circuit enough to give us the jolt we need." Tony continued muttering to himself.

"Tony?" Clint repeated, louder, more forceful. He was trying his hardest to sit up, to get the billionaire's attention. But his vision was fading again. His body wanted to give out. "Tony!"

"What? Not paying enough attention to you?" Tony smirked, turning back to Clint. The man had already fallen back against the seat, his strength tapped.

The archer never got out what he wanted to say. That if Tony hooked himself to the ship, wouldn't it sap him of everything that was keeping him alive? Keeping the shrapnel from his heart? Clint only managed to repeat his name once more before he faded out of consciousness again.

* * *

thanks for still reading! please review, tony whumpers, be happy:)


	5. Chapter 5

**Author:** PeechTao. AKA: Author of Evil

**Lithium Hawkeye**

_Chapter 5_

"Got any twos?"

"Go and dip thy reel in the basin of which the fish flow most plentifully!"

"You could just say no."

"Ah, yes. I mean, no."

Captain America fished through the pile of cards, picking up his sixteenth one in a row without having a single matching pair. His hands were overstuffed with unmatching cards, a feat he didn't even think was logistically possible in a deck of fifty two cards where three quarters of them matched already!

"Does your hand contain the likeness of a fair maiden?" Thor asked.

"You know it does." Captain complaining, throwing the Queen over. "Ask another five times, you may get the same answer.

Thor excitedly matched his newly acquired Queen to the one in his hand and devilishly looked over his carts then back to the Captain. "Now, does your hand contain a second fair maiden of the color red?"

The Captain stared at him jaw-dropped. "Are you telling me you already have a second queen in your hand, and your asking for mine?"

"They may be of the womanly look, but they are neither the same color or I would have matched them willingly."

Captain America, or Steve Rogers as he was known, raised his voice loud enough for the surrounding SHIELD agents to hear. "All right, who taught Thor to play go-fish? Honestly, it wasn't enough that he destroyed me at war?"

Thor's loud voice boomed with laughter. "AH HA!" he cried, "A _RIVETING_ game that! Shall we play another?"

"No." Steve replied simply. Throwing his hand down. "In fact, I give up this too. You win."

Thor laughed again, employees' coffee cups began shaking at their desks. "FANTASTIC! I am greatly enjoying this game of cards! I must bring this treasure to Asgard. Do I have your permission?"

Steve waved at the deck. "Be my guest. I'd be happy to never see a stack of cards again."

"I am in your debt." Thor proclaimed, leaving with his hands full of playing cards.

Steve shook his head as he watched him go. The bridge was quiet, for once. That didn't happen often nowadays and it was always Steve's prerogative to take advantage of the time when it became available. This time was somewhat different. The bridge felt empty without Hawkeye perched up in some stray corner watching everyone's movements. Or Stark down in the labs enticing the Hulk out of Banner. Even Romanov hadn't been seen since Hawkeye wasn't around to shadow. Steve often thought the two had an invisible rope tying them together. One was never far from the other whether they knew it or not.

In the back of his mind, Steve was disappointed he didn't go along the little flight to Amsterdam with Tony and Clint. Sure it wasn't anything serious, and he did not feel like listening to Stark complain the whole time he was in the plane, but it would have been something worth doing. Various SHIELD employees had mentioned to him that Amsterdam was beautiful this time of year. It would have been better to go and see it then be stranded on the floating hover carrier in far edges of the Antarctic.

Steve was just deciding to head back to his bunk and catch up on some light reading about the last seventy years of history he'd missed, and perhaps even cruise the e-web for information about the i-Pods Tony kept chatting about. His feet moved perhaps a few inches.

That's when the call came in.

"What's that? You're breaking up, can you speak louder? Can you hear me, sir? Hello, sir? Can you hear me? Repeat that last segment, I didn't get it."

The sound was mere background noise in the endless sea of calls fielded by the SHIELD technicians in the far corner of the bridge. Why Rogers stopped to listen was a mystery to him. The tech was in the opposite corner of the bridge. Given the size of the bridge it was a considerably greater distance there then to get to the door and his bunk below deck. But Rogers felt something sinking in his chest like a lead weight. It was a feeling he couldn't quite place. He knew something was wrong.

"Sir, repeat that. Repeat that location, and state your official registry number. Can you hear me, sir?"

The Captain came up to stand behind the technician's console. Without him even addressing her, the technician spun in her seat and thrust the headset towards him.

"I can't make out a thing he's saying. I think its Mr. Stark. But he's not responding."

The lead weight in his chest gained another fifty pounds of force. The Captain grabbed the headset and fixed it over his ear. He pulled the mouthpiece forward, speaking smoothly into it.

"Stark, can you hear me? Tony, are you there?"

" _. . . Groota Krasomething . . . India . . . not India, Africa. Crshhhhhh . . ." _the radio connection cackled and fizzled so loud, Rogers had to pull it away from his ear. When the worst of the static passed, he fixed the headset on again. "_Critical . . . Clint is criti . . . Med—frica. Crash . . . Starsssshhhhhhkkk calling Helicarrier Gold. Need . . . Critical . . . Groota Krasomething . . . .Not India . . ."_

The message repeated from the beginning, as if Tony knew he couldn't hear what the Captain was trying desperately to ask him. After a few minutes of listening over and over to the recycled message, Rogers handed it back. "Call Fury." He told her. "Get some jets scrambled, my team's headed out. I need someone to trace that radio signal and send us the location, understand?"

The woman looked shocked, like he'd just asked her to handle the largest spider in the Tibetan Rainforest.

"Now!" Rogers emphasized. "They don't have the time to lose!"

* * *

so, i promised a chapter didn't I? lol, probably NOT what ANY of you expected to read, but i understand. though, as an author these little asides must be included for the sake of story relevance. the next chapter will pick up with our two favorites once more, so do not fear.

I think i'll be adding chapter 6 next friday, just because:):)


	6. Chapter 6

**ok, so i lied. here's another chapter to make you happy:)**

**Disclaimer (again, just a reminder to everyone):** I own nothing! I want to send some credit out to Isalarma, she gave me the awesome plot bunny to write this when I finished her book Some Things Aren't Funny, go read it! Idea of Tony being afraid of water is a total credit to Isalarma.

**Author:** PeechTao

**Lithium Hawkeye**

_Chapter 6_

"Does anyone hear me?" Tony spoke into the silence. "I repeat, Agent Clint Barton is in critical condition. We need medical EVAC immediately. We've crashed. African Coast. Stark calling Helicarrier Gold, tell me your getting this."

The ship's running lights flickered over head, popping and sizzling as their servos shorted out. Two fires had started since he'd pumped life into the battered plane, but they were minor, nothing the small onboard fire extinguisher couldn't handle. Tony's attempts at isolating the radio system from the entire ships power supply was in vain. It could be done, with Bruce Banner at his side and a few hours of time, but he had neither.

Clint had gotten worse. Far worse. His heart was racing wildly now, taxed to find the blood to keep his body from falling apart. His fingers, lips, and probably his toes had gone blue, his body's way of saving his limited blood supply for more critical systems. He wasn't just unconscious now, he was mildly delusional. Coming in and out of a stupor where Loki had him captured, his body was incased in ice, all of the Avengers were dead. Sometimes all three.

Tony had no choice then but to hook the entire ship's system to his ARC reactor. It was probably not the best idea in retrospect. One thing was supplying his suit, another was a dead plane that bled off more energy then Clint's bullet wound. His ARC reactor was slowly being sapped of everything that kept Tony alive. Soon he'd have to cut the signal if only to keep himself alive. But if the Helicarrier didn't get the message, what good was the sacrifice to begin with?

_A few minutes longer, then I'll pull the power plug_, he promised himself. Enough time to give them a good chance. The odds were probably 15% as it was, but if he held out longer he could push that to twenty, maybe even thirty.

But his body was already feeling the familiar effects of the energy drain. His breaths were swift and raspy, near hyperventilation. His heart pounded like a bass drum in his chest, nearly as fast as Clint's. Vision, blurry. Head, cloudy. Chest, heaving. Body, weakened. Yes, this was a very familiar feeling.

"Tony? TONY?" Clint came around again, his mind battling itself to remain in the moment.

"I'm right here." Stark called, placing a hand on his ankle. "I haven't left. Couldn't if I wanted."

"Stop." Hawkeye said, suddenly _exceptionally_ lucid. "God, Tony, stop. You're killing yourself, stop!"

"It's fine." Tony countered. "Just another minute, and we'll be fine. Calvary's on the way now."

"Then stop!" Clint pressed. "He'll find us, What if he finds us?"

Tony looked at him, watching as Clint's sharp pupils widened.

"Who will, Clint?" He asked.

"Loki. He can't I can't let him find us. I can't let him take me. Tony, stop. You've got to stop. Just let me die. Don't you understand, let me die!" If he could crawl over and disconnect Stark himself he would. But even his limbs rebelled against him. Nothing worked. Nothing but his eyes which watched in abject horror and Tony's small blue lights were flicking out one by one.

"I can't let him get me. My mother, my sister, what he did to them. Tony, don't let him get me. Don't let him get me!" Clint had moved pass his terror of Loki's reappearance to something wholly new and deeper seated in his damaged psyche. Stark found it difficult to keep his voice calm, but he had to. He had to be the reasonable one, the strong one for both of them.

"It's ok." Tony repeated. He wondered vaguely if Clint had any more knives hidden on him. If this was that crack in his mental state the head cases were waiting for, the last thing Tony needed was to wrestle a knife away from him too. By the second Clint's terror was blowing out of proportion. He went from the horror of Loki finding them, to the bloodthirsty terror of someone, perhaps his father coming after him all over again. All the while it was obvious he was reliving the buried memories of watching his mother and sister being viscously raped and murdered before his eyes.

But Tony could do little more then talk to him. As he looked down at the ARC reactor, he noted at once only five lights were blinking now. Blinking, not steadily glowing like they should be. Perhaps Clint was right. He was cutting this closer then normal. Funny, Tony considered to himself. He'd traded JARVIS for Clint Barton.

"Oh, God, stop." Clint's voice was kicked down to a whisper. "Don't make me do it. Please, don't make me."

"Helicarrier Gold," Tony said into the radio, "This is Tony Stark, if anyone can hear this, send two medical teams." He dropped the radio headset and worked frantically on removing the tendrils of ship's wiring from where he'd hooked them over the reactor. They were surprisingly sealed together. The heat and power of the reactor had fused some of the wiring. Tony grabbed the knife to hack through them, but realized he'd probably just end up electrocuting the only good hand he had left. Instead he went at their opposite ends, removing their attachments to the ship. One by one overheard lights, switches, and panels went blinking out as Tony pulled their plugs. But it wasn't fast enough to keep his little blue lights from fading out completely.

"Iron Man." Clint whispered, "Avenger. Hawkeye. Physicist. Top Shot. ARC Reactor. Good guys."

"Iron Man." Tony replied. "That's right, Clint." He stripped the last plug, even as his single light began to flicker out. "Iron Man, Hawkeye. Avengers." He took a deep breath, feeling the ARC reactor stop pulsing in his chest as its steady hum went dead. He exhaled, unsure if his next breath would ever come.

:-)

"Will he make it there before us? Does he know where he's going?" Banner asked, strapping himself into the seat a little tighter.

"Does he know where he's going, maybe. But if he listened correctly, he should be there before we are." Captain America replied, adjusting his gloves over his hands. His shield rested against the row of back seats. It was like a lifeless tool outside of its master's grip. Romanov sat beside it, her fingers tracing along its sharp edge. She focused only on that shield, making mental notes of every groove, nick, and ship of paint. Its very solidity was the only thing keeping her from ripping apart at the seams.

The captain glanced her way from time to time, but found it best to leave her to her own thoughts. She had listened to the recording also. It was broadcast through the entire cabin as they lighted out from Helicarrier Gold. The broadcast lasted nearly twenty minutes. The message cleared in some parts, garbled beyond recognition in others. After constant repetition, the message was clear as day. The simple trip to Amsterdam had gone horribly wrong. The plane was shot out of the sky. Clint was grievously injured. If they didn't get to the wreckage soon, the team was going to lose two great men.

"How far out are we, Hill?" Banner asked.

"Hour, tops." She responded.

"Any way we can steal some extra speed out of this bird?" The Captain asked before anyone else could.

"Already trying that, sir. They were two hours out as it is." She replied.

"What if we don't get there in time?" Banner kept on. His mind was run off with him. The idea of a world existing without Tony Stark raiding his lab and making fun of his astrophysics was unthinkable. "What if Thor doesn't get there in time. What if whoever attacked them comes back before—"

Romanov's head snapped up, the look in her eyes was enough the send a thread of terror through Banner's Hulk heart. He swallowed whatever thoughts were stealing across his mind and instead focused on the make of his boots. Romanov looked down also, her finger tracing the edge of the shield once more, dancing her fingers across it like walking along the edge of a knife.

:-)

_Move,_ he shouted to himself. _Move! Get up, get to him, do something. Just MOVE!_

Clint's body refused to adjust. It wouldn't respond. It had finished listening to him. They were alone in the universe, two lost souls on an ill-fated journey that never should have happened. This was the last time he was going to take a day off. He imagined the conversation with Fury.

"_No sir, I will not go on vacation. The last time I did, I almost died."_

"_No Fury, I will not watch this mystical cube. The last time I did, I was possessed by and evil demi-god."_

"_No sir, I will not baby-sit Tony Stark. The last time I did, I died."_

"_No father, I wont take care of the family for you, the last time I did everyone died."_

"_He died."_

"**He died."**

Clint felt hands grab him. He felt himself being pulled forward and up. A thunderous voice filled his very being. At first he fought against it. He thought he could fight against it. But the pain, the weakness overwhelmed him all at once. The voice was hardly making any sense. But the sheer volume crushed its way through the waves of his muddled brain.

"Clinton of Barton! Can you understand me, my friend? Why do you not understand me?"

Suddenly Clint did understand. He was being rescued, if one could call being hauled to his feet by a thug a rescue. But he had to save Tony. He needed to save Tony before there was nothing left to save. Clint forced his eyes open. His mouth formed words once again.

"He d—die—died!" Clint stuttered out, he pushed his body to the limits, doing what he could to get out of Thor's iron clasp.

Thor looked at him, obviously confused. "You have not died, I have you here and therefore you will live!"

Clint would have slapped him if he could have. "N—not me!" His eyes darted to the floor, to Stark's limp form hunched over the dismantled radios. Thor couldn't be distracted trying to save Clint, he had to get him to think about Stark. Clint, with all of his sins, was not worth saving. It was Clint's fault they were in this mess. If he didn't miss seeing those jets, if he had gotten a shot off, if he hadn't tried so hard to look at what made no difference, they would have been saved. Tony Stark would be alive.

In his mind, Clint deserved no sympathy, no remorse. He didn't deserve the time it took to drag him to his feet and through a military trial. He didn't deserve Thor's concern. Clint deserved to die.

In his need to try and convey these thoughts, Clint did not long keep hold of his consciousness. Instead, Thor looked down to where Clint last indicated, found Stark, and suddenly it all clicked. He set Clint none-to-gently back on the floor and grasped hold of Stark instead. "Man of Iron! Man of Iron, your chest holds no light!" Thor reached a hand against Tony's neck, trying to feel for a pulse as gently as he could. When none came to him, he at last recognized the severity of the problem. He knew what he had to do. He had not a moment to lose if it worked at all!

Thor grabbed Tony in a fireman's hold and launched out of the windshield with him. Once clear of the metal craft, he felt safe enough to do what he had only attempted once before. He was going to thrust a bolt of lightning right through Iron Man's ARC core. He had never attempted it to restart his friend's damaged heart, but it certainly worked to power the reactor in the past.

With nothing left to lose, he set to it. The clouds encompassed the sky. The rain fell in thick sheets as thunder and lighting struck the sky. Thor stood over Iron Man's lifeless body, his hammer swirling in a dizzying array over his head. With a final hard swing, with his hammer dropping through the air with a sheet of lightning flowing behind it, Thor brought his hammer down on the ARC core. The lightning bolt rushed through the core, it flushed out of every circuit. The core flashed with life and began to swirl in its basic concentric circles. Blue light flowed through the air. The lightning rushed through the earth around them. The area was bathed in absolute light.

Thor watched it all, and silently wondered if it would be nearly enough.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed . . . . dum dum dum . . . another cliffhanger! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

now feel better, because i did lie, and then gave you 2 chapters for the price of one. Please review! otherwise i feel lonely.

OK, I sOOOO want a shout-out from my fans in the following countries: Latvia, Ireland, South Africa, and how about Malaysia? Anyone from thereabouts want to say a howedy do, just push the little blue button down there, because its just super cool your reading my story.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author Note:** Wow, i'm being UBER generous this morning and updating now rather than later tonight. I'm excited to see how you like it. Thanks to all my country shout-outs, they're fun to read! When i go through and see readers from fourty-five different countries, i feel special, at the same time i think: do they really have a fanfic reader in Cech Revar? Holy cow, that's awesome.

**Author:** PeechTao

**Lithium Hawkeye**

_Chapter 7_

"There, do you see that?" Captain stood over Hill, leaning into the windshield as the world flashed with a familiar blue light. He shielded his eyes with one gloved hand, trying to peer through and see what may lie at the center of the light. A steady wind had gone from a gentle breeze to a thunderous storm. Swirling at the center was the origin of the light. A familiar face looking down on another friend.

"Dear God, I hope they're all right." Banner breathed. "What's he doing? Do you know what he's doing?"

"Set this thing down." Captain ordered.

Hill touched down not a moment before the back hatch was already down. Romanov was out before they ever saw her move. Steve Rogers was right on her heels with Banner following close behind.

Above their plane hovered the second, a medical transport ready to sweep in and take over the minute the scene was secured.

"Clint!" Natasha screamed. She was ripping her way into the shattered plane. Trying to ignore the destroyed wreckage around her. Trying to forget that no one could ever survive such a thing. Clint survived worse. He would always survive worse. He wasn't a genius, or an Asgardian, or even some lab experiment, but that didn't mean he wasn't somehow more of a man. Enough to survive a little plane crash.

As she climbed through the windshield, she saw the extent of the damage. The blood, the ripped apart seats, the bullet holes in every surface. She saw his bow, still folded in a heap of tangled metal and his quiver of arrows coated in blood.

"Clint!" she screamed again, seeing his body stretched over the upside down air craft. His eyes were open, unfocused. Their blue spheres focused on nothing. His body was cold, drained of everything that made it alive. Her eyes focused on a tear of flesh across his cheek and could only focus on the bullet that must be lodged in his brain.

Tony had called for a med EVAC, not a morgue wagon. Clint was injured. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Her Clint couldn't possibly be dead!

She collapsed against the wall of the plane, falling to her knees as her body spasmed uncontrollably. Banner was at her side in an instant, drawling her to his chest as she beat him mercilessly with her fists. Her whole body screamed, but he never let go, not for a moment.

The medical team swarmed the cabin, and Clint's body was covered from all view.

The Captain hadn't followed them in. Instead he went to Thor's side, staying his hand as the Asgardian controlled the lightning pumping into Tony's chest piece. Together they waited, praying silently that somehow the blue core could undo the damage already done. Steve scooped Stark up in his arms, rushing him toward the second medical team. The core was working once again, but was it to late to keep the shrapnel in Stark's body from tearing his heart apart?

:-)

Cold. That was the first thing that came to his mind. He was cold, and he was sick and tired of it. He felt like he'd been cold for ways, weeks, like no one believed that a thermostat could work in both directions or that blankets could be necessary items for a patient recovering in an infirmary. He wanted to get up and give the poor excuse for a nurse's staff a good piece of his mind, but something stopped him. Maybe it was just the blood loss, but he felt surprisingly light. Like his arms weren't coming with him when he moved.

Clint opened his eyes, blinking away what he thought would be the harsh sterile white of a hospital room. Instead, he was surprised to find himself in a different place entirely. The steady beeping beside his bed told him that he wasn't completely beyond medical care, but someone had taken the initiative to move him to his own room at Stark Tower. That was a nice touch.

"Careful." A voice said.

His head turned to take in the sight of the person, or persons beside him. In fact, he was shocked to see that everyone was there. Steve, Bruce, Natasha, even Nick Fury made an appearance hanging in the doorway like a stray dog. The only face missing belong to Tony Stark. But if they were at Stark Industries, the man himself must not be far. That alone but Clint's heart at ease.

"Take it slow now." Steve was saying. He was the closest, right beside his head. It surprised him that Natasha wasn't there instead. She was off behind Bruce, strangely close to Fury and the doorway. As if at any moment she might run screaming down the hall.

"You're going to be ok." Steve went on. "But, we just need you to take it easy, all right?"

Clint nodded. Of course he'd take it easy. He deserved it after the Hell he'd been drug through. "Sure, where's Tony?"

"Just upstairs. He's with Ms. Potts." Steve explained.

"Ugly son-of-a-gun all right?" Clint asked, cracking a smile.

Steve smiled too, but it was only half genuine. "He's fine. Just fine."

Clint tried to sit up again, still the vague feeling of being weightless hung around him. Thor appeared seemingly out of no where to press down his right shoulder while Steve held the left.

"Now, I said to take it easy. There's something we have to explain to you first, ok?" The Captain said, suddenly his toned changed to something more stern, frightening.

Clint didn't understand where he was going and something told him he was not going to like it either, so he did what his only natural response was in fight or flight situations. He fought. Or he would have if his attempt to grab Steve by the arm and fling him back wasn't met with the glaring obstacle of his hand being missing!

A scream mingled with shock and horror tore from his throat. Clint brought around his other hand, finding it too had been severed off above the wrist. He screamed again, suddenly trying to kick out of his prison of a bed. The sheets never moved beneath him. His legs, if they were even still there, would not respond. Clint screamed, he screamed and screamed as Thor and Rogers held him in place and tried their best to explain.

The blood loss hadn't killed him, but his hands were beyond saving. They had gone without circulation for so long, they had begun to die before he was ever taken off the plane. The bullet nicked his spine. There was infection. The doctors spared his legs, but he had been paralyzed. He was useless. Everything that made him an Avenger had been taken away from him.

Natasha was gone, she'd run from the room the minute the screams started. Tony stood in the doorway now instead. His face was pale as death itself. He had a gunshot wound through his chest. His blood was leaking onto the floor and no one noticed but Clint. No one heard him screaming to save Tony. To let him go, let him die just to save Tony.

Clint pulled at the IV lines in his arms. He felt the satisfying rush of pain when they pulled free and the warning sirens started. Someone screamed his name but he didn't care. He needed to see Stark. He needed them to save him. Why couldn't they understand that he, Clint Barton was not worthy enough to live, but Stark was? Why did they even care?

He stalked across the room, fueled on adrenaline and painkillers. He needed to get to Stark. He needed to save him.

"Hey, leaving so soon?"

The voice caught him up short, Hawkeye turned around, seeing him again, that figure from his youth that haunted every nightmare not overwhelmed by Loki. He was standing over Clint again like so many years before.

"Where you going? Leaving me again? You aint leaving. You aint going nowhere you miserable little puke!"

Clint's body tensing for the blow that was sure to come. Instead, as the fist lowered for the all too common beating, the scene changed. Before him stood Loki, lowering his staff, his face alive with vengeance and horror. The staff was thrust through Hawkeye's chest and suddenly he felt his world slip away in a haze of red.

* * *

Next chapter we get to hear a lil about the others again, then we're back to Stark. hope you like!

Remember to review!


	8. Chapter 8

**Author Note: Sorry, posted chapter from my nook, so i didn't get to put the up the extra author note, for quick referece: Yes, the last chapter was a dream-sequence only, no i wasn't so mean as to cut off Clint's hands or make him paralyzed. OH! And I have about 200 less visitors on chapter five then any other chapter, so if you somehow missed reading that little gem (i posted 2 chapters in the same day, so its possible you may have overlooked it) then please re-read it, your missing something fun!**

**Author:** PeechTao

**Lithium Hawkeye**

_Chapter 8_

Thor sat alone, a deck of cards in his hand as he shuffled them one by one into the rest of the fold. A single erratic beeping split the silence of the room. It would quicken until it seemed like there was not a single pause between when one heartbeat began and another ended, and then it would slow until it was hardly there at all. Rogers had sat vigil the whole night before, listening as his own heart raced at each erratic rhythm. Finely the stress proved too much, he had to take a break. Somewhere down in the gym he was surely decimating some unsuspecting punching bags.

Romanov was next on watch. She lasted three minutes through the first nightmare before she left the room in tears. Banner was asked, and politely declined. He was more apt to get upset and kill his charge rather then protect him.

Nick Fury was unavailable for comment.

With Tony being hand-fed grapes by a very pleased-to-have-him-alive Pepper Potts just one room away, that left Thor on Clint Barton duty. The Asgardian was unaffected by the peculiarities of the heart rhythm's dips and dives, and his voice was calming, but stern enough to break the grip of even Clint's worst nightmares. For now, the match was a fortunate one.

It was only three days since the wreckage of the plane was cleared away and the two survivors were transported to SHIELD base. There, Tony tolerated precisely ninety seconds of fumigated quarters before he refused any medical attention until he was granted leave at Stark Towers to recover instead. Naturally that meant Clint was going with him. Seven transfusions later, that is.

They were out of the woods, for the most part. Tony had a new shiny piece of metal holding his busted wrist into a single bone instead of four, and Clint had part of his ruptured liver removed and his back put into a brace until it was obvious that a certain cluster of nerves was not completely obliterated. One of his ribs was removed, the other one held together virtually with crazy glue and thumb tacks. At least that was Tony's opinion of the surgeons' adeptness.

Thor shuffled the cards again. Pulling the ace of spades off the bottom of the stack and shoving it somewhere near the middle. Then came the Queen of diamonds, she went somewhere near the top. Card by card were stuffed into new locations as he silently sat by his good friend, waiting for the veil of unconsciousness to lift at last.

The heart monitor began to soar around the time Thor drew the King of Spades. He had been used to this, and didn't decide to become concerned until it crossed the two-hundred-and-ten beats-per-minute mark and stayed there. Clint's body began to adjust, not an all-out flail, but as close to it as his body could get with the sedation weighing him down. Thor set his deck of cards to the side, and leaned in close to the archer's ear. Even his attempt at whispering held all the same force of his booming voice, only half a decibel lower.

"Clint of Barton, my archer friend. Ease your mind. You have been safely recovered by your friends and now have little to fear."

After spiking initially from the shock of the new sound thumping into his eardrums, the heart rate would begin to slowly putter down until it hardly beat at all. This was Clint's sedated state, a low normality that had Banner pulling his hair out of his scalp from worry.

Regardless of this latter fact, the door opened and there stood the doctor. He was simply dressed in his set of slacks and loose t-shirt. His hair was uncombed and matted around his face, obscuring the tops of his brimmed glasses. Anyone looking at him wouldn't first assume he was any bit the world genius that he truly was.

Thor grinned widely and stood to embrace his friend.

Banner, kept him back with a wave. "I would, really I would, but the last time you did that to me, I felt like my lungs were being crushed and the Other Guy didn't appreciate it."

Thor paused with his arms outstretched, as if he couldn't decide to ignore Banner's request or not. In the end he lowered them and boomed a laugh. "Ah, well, I can support your wishes, healer. Does our good archer require your attention now?"

Banner looked down at the bed, and Clint stretched across the mattress beneath the sheet. A pang of apathy hit his gut, but it was swallowed down with a heavy dose of resolve. As the resident doctor of the rag tag group of _almost_ heroes, he had been beating himself up over his complete lack of attention to his friend. Sure the all but methodical beeping was enough to freeze his brain into a seizure of total rage, but he had to overcome that. It wasn't necessarily faIr to leave the burden of caring for Clint on two people alone. Given what Stark had already gone through on Clint's behalf, he wasn't even considered for rotations. Natasha was overcoming her inability to get within four feet of the room without going catatonic. So Banner felt it was his duty to start pulling his weight, regardless that the machines sent his skin crawling.

"Need a break?" Bruce asked.

"And leave you to your own devices?" Thor asked, "Do you think it a wise move, for surely I do not tire the way you humans find yourselves so able."

"But you don't want to sit here all night while the Captain gets his z's do you? I mean, you have to get at least bored, don't you?"

Thor looked down at the deck of cards in his hand and knew without wondering that he had already cycled through the deck three-hundred and seventy five times. It was difficult to play the game called War with no one to turn cards against him, and go-fish was nearly just as useless without a partner of which to fish with. He thought perhaps someone had created a game in which a person could play by themselves, but not knowing of it, he had indeed gotten "bored" as Bruce put it.

"I do believe there are things of which I wish to attend in the work out center." Thor contemplated to himself.

Banner thrust a thumb back towards the door. "Go on, get out of here. I can't sleep much anyway. I'm overdue to pull my weight around here."

Thor smiled in happiness, expressing his pleasure at Banner stepping up to the silverware. Bruce didn't have the heart to tell him that "stepping up to the plate" was the proper terminology. With a colossal clap over his shoulder that sent Banner reeling sideways, Thor headed out the door.

Bruce turned to the bed and the oversized armchair left vacated beside it. He checked all the heart monitors first, adjusting what may have dislodged in stray movements or fitful dreams. The back of his mind fought the urge to check everything again. And then again when the heart rate wouldn't climb past a staggering forty BPM, he told himself to relax, sat in the chair, and tried his best to ignore it.

Before he left the hovel of his lab in the steel bunker that had become his second home under Stark tower, Banner had the forethought to take along his recent paperback. It wasn't the best read he'd ever had but it was at least something to pass the tedious midnight hours away with.

As twilight turned to midnight, the overhead lights flicked off automatically, leaving only the small desk lamp running. Banner smiled to himself, thinking that if Tony Stark had programmed the lights, they wouldn't go out until four AM and the earliest. Hawkeye led a surprisingly less eccentric nightlife.

Bruce settled back in his armchair, kicking his legs up on the waste can beside the bed as he strove for relaxation. To his benefit, Clint's heart was playing fair now. It kept a general steady state, not climbing to outrageous proportions and not falling to near death either. Perhaps that mean he was coming out of the worst of his ordeal. So, as he continued to read, his head hanging low in his chest and the rhythmic heart beat pulsing in the background, it was no surprise when Bruce eventually found the sleep that had been chased away for so many days.

That was precisely what Hawkeye was hoping for.

In a smooth motion he rose out of the bed. He had already pulled his IV when Banner's vigil started, holding it in his palm instead of letting the drugs poison his veins with delusions and nightmares. What had brought him back to the land of consciousness he wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to let the others stop him now. He was going to find Tony. He was going to save him whether the others liked it or not.

Before the heart monitor could give him away, he pulled the finger probe off his hand and clipped it to Banner's instead. Then he waited in silence for a few moments to see whether his ploy would succeed. Sure enough, Banner never moved. Mental applause was out of the question, not when there was so much Clint had to do first.

He sprung out of bed, tucking and rolling when his rubbery limbs suddenly refused to support him. Through sheer mental resolve he pushed himself back to his feet, before he crashed into the closest wall. The pain was long departed now. All he felt was the sickening numbness the pain drugs left behind.

The door was already open, making it easy for him to take off without the added effort of opening it unnoticed. He padded down the darkened hallway, his bare feet noiseless against the ceramic floor. His hand went to his chest out of reflex. Something there felt tied to his body like a lead girdle on a woman. It was closing him in and made every breath take some effort. His free hand went for the knife always at his belt, but when he found it missing, he felt a moment of panic. He stopped, searching his feet for the spare knife that was obviously absent as well.

_No matter. I need to find Tony, I'll deal with the vice later,_ Clint told himself silently.

His room was not that much further down the hall then where Clint's was located. Like a zombie on patrol, the archer moved forward, onward, punched his code into the door and snuck inside unnoticed by the world outside. The suite was expansive, as was everything in Tony Stark's life. Not as massive as the penthouse three floors above them, this suite was Tony's new favorite bedroom out of the forty or so he employed up and down the levels of Stark Tower. At this time, it was peculiar Tony wasn't sitting up, glued to his computer monitor or working diligently on cruising television channels with the mute turned on. Not seeing him immediately, Clint moved for the bedroom just a doorway to his left.

:-)

"Banner? What are you doing? Where's Clint?"

The sound of a foreign voice brought Bruce Banner crashing into consciousness so fast he nearly fell off his chair. His skin flushed green as his muscles rippled in an involuntary response to an unknown assault. When he pulled his glasses up to his eyes, he saw the Captain standing over him. Roger's face was not a happy one.

"What?" Bruce said, trying to get his bearings and not shred his close at the same time.

"Clint, the Hawk, where is he? He was here when I left!" Captain went on, motioning at the obviously empty bed.

Banner shot to his feet, stopped by the heart probe pulling off his finger and hitting the floor. "Oh my—I didn't think he'd be walking for weeks. He shouldn't be walking for weeks! Cap, we've got to find him!"

"You check the south end of the hall, I'll head north. Get Romanov and Thor, we need to strip this place down and find him!" Captain was shouting and running all at once. In his mind he worked out how far the man could have gotten in his state and where he would have even gone. It couldn't be far, but it all depended on how long Bruce had been out for.

"JARVIS!" Banner called, running the opposite direction of Rogers.

"_At your service, Dr. Banner."_ The AI came to life, using the internal speaker system of the tower to relay information directly to Bruce.

"Do you have a location on Clint Barton?"

JARVIS was silent for a moment, analyzing its surveillance data through a facial recognition system. When the answer was at ninety-seven percent likelihood, the AI announced, _"Clint Barton entered his personal code into room 4381-4 approximately twenty-five minutes ago."_

Banner changed directions instantly, shouting ahead to Rogers who was searching room-by-room. "He's in Stark's room!"

* * *

lol, leave it to Bruce to think of the easy search. I have to say I love my Thor, he captures the fun side i could see in him and at the same time the caring big-guy you're shown in his interaction with Jane.

Please review, we're back to Tony next!


	9. Chapter 9

**Author Note: Read the Author Notes! Especially on chapter 8, some peeps...they were confused! LOL!**

**Author Note 2:** to be honest, this is MY favorite chapter. I love everything about it. next is the last chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! I want to send some credit out to Isalarma, she gave me the awesome plot bunny to write this when I finished her book Some Things Aren't Funny, go read it! Idea of Tony being afraid of water is a total credit to Isalarma.

**Author:** PeechTao

**Lithium Hawkeye**

_Chapter 9_

Pepper Potts sat up in bed, staring down at her feet with Tony Stark sitting up on one elbow beside her. One of the bedside lamps was on, illuminating only enough of the room to take in the whole of their situation without alarming the extra person who'd whittled his way into their company. Pepper's arms were folded in her contemplative way. Tony looked amused and confused, but mostly just amused.

"How did he even get here?" Pepper said for perhaps the hundredth time in three minutes.

"He couldn't resist my overwhelmingly amiable nature. Or his bed on the floor was taken by the cat and he wanted to be closer for warmth." Tony replied smiling.

"But how long has he been there? He could have stayed all night and we wouldn't have known until you tried to kick me."

Tony snorted. "Actually, that was a sad attempt at foreplay of which I take complete responsibility because obviously now we can have no fun with the kid in the bed."

Pepper shot him a withering look.

Tony perked up. "Well, this was never my idea of how a threesome would go, but if you'll keep him on your side, I'm game."

The look turned to a scowl.

Tony held up his uninjured hand in a sign of supplication. "Fine, fine, I'll put him back in bed. Don't go all high and mighty on me." Tony pulled the blankets off his lower half and crawled down the bed to look over Clint's prone from. Somehow the man had sneaked into their room unobserved, climbed onto the end of their bed, and lay curled up in a ball at their feet. Like a lap dog sleeping at the end of his master's bed, Clint was passed out against the cherry footboard. Tony sat over top of him for a moment, looking down at the man he felt like he hardly knew. Traces of conversation drifted through his mind about the time they spent together. When fear attempted to seize him once more, Tony had enough of his brooding. He tapped Clint's face gently, the only part of him unaffected as far as the billionaire knew. Well, aside from the forty-three stitches it took to close the gaping wound on it.

"All right, Fido, this is not your room. Get up and let's go."

"Oh, Tony." Pepper said.

Tony turned to her. "I'm telling you, if we don't set the ground rules in his puppy years, he's going to grow up and kill rats in our baby room like that nasty cocker spaniel."

"I cannot even begin to tell you how much is wrong with that statement." She replied. "But it's nice to see that you're thinking about our babies."

A fear of new proportions seized through him and before Tony could shoot down his Freudian slip, he found an iron grasp tightened around the front of his shirt. Stark's full attention rested on the ice blue eyes staring up at him.

"Tony." Clint said, his voice hardly strong enough to reach an audible level. "Have to . . . You can't die."

Stark leaned forward with a start. The last thing he expected Clint to say was that. "Clint, don't you know where we are? We're in New York, back at Stark Tower. We're safe, do you understand?"

Clint's eyes blinked uncomprehendingly. They drifted from Stark's face to the ARC reactor barely visible through Tony's night shirt. "You can't," he said, "You can't die . . . not for me. Not worth it . . . not for me."

Pepper, understanding some tragic exchange was going on between the two could not keep herself out of the loop. She shuffled to the end of the bed and sat with her arm wrapped around Tony's back.

"God, Clint, what makes you say that? What makes you worse then any one of us? Especially Tasha, I mean really, don't you think she's killed a tad more people then you?" Tony's attempt at humor was marred by his inability to put any life behind his words. The seriousness in Clint's face was killing him inside, and there was no hiding that sentiment from Pepper. The others, perhaps, but never her.

Clint's hand moved from its slackening grip on Tony's shirt front to probe the cover of the ARC reactor. It was true that no wires, gears, or foreign material were sucking the very essence out of Tony's body. But did that mean he was safe? In Clint's mind, that was a no. If Stark was willing to kill himself just to save Barton's lost soul, then Tony would never be safe. Clint was too prone to random accidents in his mortal body to begin with. Having Tony take those falls instead would tear his world apart.

"I'm sorry." Clint said, the feeling of numbness was welling up again. He knew that his lucidity was falling away and that the nightmares were waiting to swallow him back up.

"For what?" Tony questioned. "If I wasn't such a bone-head you wouldn't have even been there. It wouldn't be an issue at all."

"I'm sorry," Clint repeated, the blue of his eyes glazing over with unshed tears. "Don't save me. Don't die, Tony. Not for me."

"Clint?" Tony leaned forward, Pepper's arm dropping from his back to hold the archer's hand instead.

Tony tapped his face again, trying to pull him back from the black land he'd fallen into. "Clint, listen to me. Can you hear me? You saved both of us. You could have ejected, left me there. But you didn't. You made it so we didn't burn up and die in the crash. You saved me from losing my hand. Your radio's what got us help, don't you get it? Clint, come on, don't . . ." Tony's voice trailed off. He knew it was useless to reason with someone who couldn't hear him. Suddenly a knock came to the door, and rather then sit and look at the sad form curled up at the end of his bed, with Pepper's tears trailing down her face in feminine sympathy, Stark got up to answer the door. He wasn't surprised to find Rogers standing there with a disheveled Banner beside him.

"Tell us he's in there." Bruce said without hesitation. "He is, isn't he? I don't know how he gave me the slip—"

"Who? The lap dog passed out on the end of my bed? Yeah, nice watch duty, guys, really keeping on top of that comatose patient. I love your style."

Captain rolled his eyes. "Come on, Stark, is he all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, fine. Fact, I think Pepper's in there now planning a sponge bath. Whether it's for her or Pinkeye I can't say. But in one case I'd be riveted to watch or join in."

"We'll hazard to guess with who." Banner replied, masking his grin. He relaxed a little, seeing that Stark was not outright worried about Barton's health, otherwise they'd be having a different toned conversation. "I'll take him back to his room, hook him back up and have JARVIS lock the door against any future attempts to jump in your bed."

"Well, unruly kids, what can you do? He's not hurting anyone. In fact, how much does he need that stuff you're pumping him with?"

Roger's was quietly watching the exchange between Banner and Stark, trying to understand why the playboy wasn't letting them see the archer, let alone even go as far as entering the apartment. Stark stood, braced in the entire doorway with his body blocking any attempt at entrance. It would have seemed threatening if Stark wasn't held up with a cast on his arm.

Banner ignored all of this. He was dredging up medical knowledge and that didn't leave any room for determining motives. "Well, he's on morphine and fluids. I've been weaning him off the morphine the last day and a half. He should stay on the fluids, he hasn't eaten anything himself."

"Would it kill him?" Stark asked virtually point blank. "For a night not to be hooked up? The guy pretty much got up and left rather willingly. If I can get him to eat, or even drink something, in the morning, can he stay off it?"

Banner shrugged, "Well, I guess it can't hurt. A few hours at least."

"Good, I'll deliver him back in the morning if we have a problem." Tony went to close the door, but Roger's foot blocked the way. There wasn't a chance he was letting Tony get off that easy.

"What's all this about?" Steve asked, unsettling Stark with his tone. "When did you get so feely about anyone else? Especially a damaged someone else? It makes sense for Pepper, but not you."

"Let's say she's got me wrapped around her finger." Stark quipped.

"No one wraps you in anything but cash." Roger's shot back.

"Did I ever tell you I sleep naked with thousand dollar bills knitted into a quilt?"

"Don't make this a joke."

"Oh, I'm serious, I put these pants on before I came out so you wouldn't get jealous. But I do feel a Benjamin trying to give me a wedgie right about now, if you want to give me a hand with that-"

Banner stepped between the two before the verbal shots became physical ones. "Ok, now, you two. Let's just take a breather. Tony, I think Steve's just trying to say he's worried about Clint. We both are. He'd feel better if he could keep an eye on him. You and Clint gave all of us a big scare. Captain feels responsible for all of us, and this mess has gotten him a little shaken up. Steve," Banner switched his line of attack to Rogers. "I think Tony's been feeling bad he can't be of more help with Barton. They both spent a lot of time trying to keep each other alive and to take Clint away now after he went in search of Tony to begin with would make Tony feel like he let him down a little. And the both of you have to think about what's best for Clint. If he needs to see that Tony's ok, then let him spend the night."

Both Stark and Rogers looked at the doctor with an air of surprise. Banner wasn't typically long-winded, unless he was talking about quantum mechanics. But nothing he happened to surmise was incorrect, so neither had any more to say on the matter.

Bruce tapped the Captain in his chest and indicated he should follow him back to their own rooms. This left the somewhat stunned, somewhat pleased Tony standing in his doorway alone. He had to send Bruce a thank you card or a jack-in-the-box for that little show of foresight. Now without the worry of his door being beaten down and Clint carted off to his hospital bed, Tony went back to his room with an easier heart.

:-)

"It felt real. It all felt so real. When I didn't hear him come by, even to visit, I just . . . I don't know, I panicked. I thought they just left him there. That they didn't see him in the plane. That they were all so busy rescuing me they just left him behind and no one wanted to admit it." Clint's voice was low, as if he was talking only to himself, trying to convince himself that the nightmares that had been plaguing him were nothing but figments of his own mind. But it was hard. He held his hands up, in front of his face as he flexed the fingers, making sure every one of them was still in place. Then he moved his toes. He could _feel_ himself moving his toes.

"You know they wouldn't lie to you like that." Pepper said, sitting over him. She took one of his hands, holding it in both of hers as she rubbed the life back into them. "I don't know anything of what you went through in that head of yours, but if its anything like what I wake up to, sleeping beside Tony, then you aren't alone." She smiled a little, it was infectious the way it made her whole face light up. "One time, it took me two hours of combing his hair to prove to him someone hadn't scalped him in his sleep."

Clint shivered some. He was suddenly glad all his dreams cared about was sawing his hands off. "It was just so real. He was dead. His ghost was just, standing there, shot to Hell. They forgot him. And it was my fault. If they weren't so worried about me, he'd be alive-"

"He _is_ alive, though." Pepper looked up at the doorway. Whatever conversation Tony had struck up was obviously over. She could hear him making his way back to the bedroom. She looked down at Clint. "Here he comes now."

"I don't want to talk to him." Clint replied suddenly. He closed his eyes, a formidable faker when the situation called for it. "Not yet. Not till I get my head straight."

This was surprising, but Pepper had to remember that all holds were off when it came to the men in her life. She could only nod, not willing to convince him he was being an idiot. So as Tony came in, she turned her attention to him instead and asked, "Who was it?"

She was sitting by Clint's head, combing his hair with her fingers. She had already taken the liberty of tucking a blanket around his body and had a small throw pillow under his head. If Tony had any ideas of moving the guy to his couch, that was officially out of the question.

Tony ignored her question to pose his own. "What's all this? You can't keep him."

Another look that meant if he didn't drop it, he would be sleeping on the couch daggered through him.

"It was Banner and Cappy." He answered her former question. "Apparently Clint slipped by his guards and went on a lone mission. The good doc says its ok to let him off the drugs for a few hours, just can't push it though. In the mourning we'll see if he's conscious enough to try and eat something." As he was speaking, Tony climbed back into the bed and settled under the blankets where he had been before. Pepper waited a few minutes more. She was staring down at Clint, her fingers still working across his short hair.

Tony tried his best to ignore them. The bed was large enough that even if Thor decided to join the pajama party they wouldn't be at a lack for room so having Clint crash on their bed was odd, but not uncomfortable. Not wanting to wait for Pepper to be finished doting on the new bed addition, Tony rolled over on his side, yanked the covers over his head and tried his best to sleep without dreaming about planes crashing. It wasn't an easy task. For one thing, his mind was too active, flying through thoughts at mach-speed that usually would have him running for his lab, or his gym, to burn off the extra energy before settling in. His other issue was taking plane crashes off the table to begin with. That left his mind open to so many more interesting ideas of what nightmares to bring, from his hostage crisis in Afghanistan, the alien attack, flying through an otherworld dimension strapped to a nuke, losing everyone he loved, Pepper being slaughtered on Loki's scepter, their were so many options it was hard to choose what to torment himself with. When he had just about decided to give up the idea of sleep all together, he heard a voice whispering at the end of the bed.

_Pepper_, he thought. She must have believed he was actually asleep. Her voice was low, but not enough to prevent him from eaves dropping.

"Stop worrying. He's ok." She said quietly, a hushing motherly quality to her voice. "He doesn't blame you. None of us do. I want to thank you, for bringing him back to me."

There was a pause. Was Clint awake? Was she speaking to him? At him? Tony had to struggle not to hold his breath and seem like his body really was resting as she believed him to be.

"You'll be ok to. Bruce will see to it. I wont let them do it if that's what you want . . . She's ok to. She was so worried about you, I think it was all a little too much of a shock. She said you hated hospitals, so Tony wanted to bring you here . . . no, he's sleeping. It was Rogers, you were right . . . Why don't we talk in the morning. You need to get some sleep . . . its not a question . . . don't be sorry. After all the scrapes and ARC mishaps I go through with Tony, you are nothing of a problem. Now do as I say, and go to sleep . . . I know, now go to sleep."

The weight on the bed changed, and suddenly Tony felt Pepper sliding under the bedclothes beside him. Her arms snaked over to his chest as she drew in close to him. He heard the whisper, whether she thought he did or not.

"I love you, you big, stupid, tin can."

:-)

Morning came and Elsa, the maid, was present right on time with the breakfast trays. Pepper was sitting up, reading through one of her favorite autobiographies and said a little thank you as Elsa set hers down first. Beside Pepper, Tony had his arm thrown over his head. He was snoring like a hibernating bear. Elsa didn't take the bait, however. She had a newspaper ready on his tray and used it to smack him with. Tony fake-startled up, murmuring something about haciendas and sombreros before Elsa gave him another good whack and unceremoniously threw the tray down on his lap. Tony stuck his tongue out at her.

When that little task was complete, she turned her attention on the extra body at the end of the bed. Obviously the kitchen staff hadn't sent her along with anything extra, she would have expected to see if anything another woman in the bed, but the presence of a man was off-putting enough.

"Its Agent Barton." Pepper supplied. "He sort of snuck in on us last night."

Elsa looked at the man again, considering him from all angles, but in the end turned to Pepper. "Anything for the agent?"

"Just some fruit, maybe some light toast. Oh, and can you get him coffee? Black is how he takes it, thank you." Pepper replied without even looking up from her plate.

Without a second glance at Tony, the maid headed out.

Tony, stunned to think Pepper might possibly know how Barton likes his coffee couldn't let the matter drop that off handedly. He opened his mouth to say just as much when Pepper caught him mid-sentence.

"I asked Natasha this morning when she came by to visit him. You were still asleep. She said he likes to wake up with black coffee and a light breakfast."

"She was in here and I was sleeping?" Tony asked, terrified at the notion.

"I imagine she spent most of the night, actually. She heard he was moving around and wanted to see that he was all right. I woke up early and we talked for a little bit. She left before you got up."

"I _just_ got up." Tony pointed out.

"And she _just_ left." Pepper fired back. She finely looked up from her book and her breakfast to consider Tony's face. "Besides, whenever you come home maimed the doctor always tells me to make sure you're fed and get enough to drink. I'm just trying to follow through on the doctor's orders."

The door opened again only a few minutes after Elsa had gone out. She was back again with a third tray. On it was a sparse mixture of grapes, melon slices, kiwis, with a side of yogurt and black coffee. "Miss Romanov instructed this be brought by." She explained, then looked around and wondered where she should leave it.

"Right here is fine." Pepper said, patting an empty space on the bed. "That'll be all for now, thanks very much."

Elsa smiled at Pepper, gave another strange look to Clint, scowled at Tony, and walked out the door.

"She doesn't hate you." Pepper said, even before Tony could open his mouth. "And yes, I can read your mind, that's what women do."

:-)

The smell hit him first. Then the brightening light. After that was a mixture of sound, like from a dining hall. The nausea came somewhere in between but lowered to a dull ache. He wondered if it was because he was hungry or if he needed to vomit. The two weren't always mutually exclusive. His back hurt. His ribs hurt. His side hurt. His face hurt. He took a moment to wonder if it was an overcome-able pain. When he didn't at first pass out, he decided it must be.

Coffee. That's what woke him up. Coffee meant he was probably still locked up for his own good. The last time he had a cup waiting for him, it was after he'd killed over forty five people. No, forty five friends. Natasha stopped looking at him the same. The SHIELD personnel never came around, never played pranks or made jokes anymore. The last time he woke up to coffee he was declared a leper. So what the Hell did he do this time to deserve it?

"Morning, Fido, got your box of Beggin' Strips out of the cupboard, you wanna try? Will you roll over?"

That tone, only Tony had that tone. Half of Clint wanted to jump for joy that the guy was even joking around with him, it meant he was alive. But the other half of Clint's mind was willing to slug him. Some things never change. He didn't want to play into Tony's hand, but at the same time the only way he _could_ look at the guy was to roll over. So he did, getting a prompt "Good boy!" from Stark. Clint's eyes opened and he found himself looking up a line of blankets to Tony and Pepper, sitting up in bed with their focus looking down at him.

Confused, he pushed himself up on his palms which made the dull ache his pain had leveled out to spike into an irrational jumble of fried nerves. He froze up, grunted in pain and couldn't move.

"What am I doing here!" he gasped out. "What did you do, Tony, abduct me or something?"

Tony feigned hurt. "Me abduct you? You're the own who called for the midnight slumber party."

"Knock it off, he's hurt." Pepper told him, she slid off her side of the bed and laid a comforting hand on Clint's bicep.

"Oh, and I'm just peachy, I get it." Tony continued in his whining tone.

"Well, how'd I get here?" Clint asked, he fortified himself against the sudden shock of pain and with Pepper's help eased himself up the rest of the way. Pepper then slid onto the bed beside him to help hold him up. With Tony and Clint now facing each other, the electricity firing off between them was almost palpable.

"Like I said, Bart, you snuck in late last night then you seduced Pepper with your little pity party and passed out in my bed. I wanted to kick you out, but I do have a heart as I'm reminded of daily." Tony tapped the glowing blue reactor in his chest.

"What day is it? How long was I out?"

"About, I don't know, four days or so."

"Four days!"

Tony shrugged. "You're making it a real habit checking out on yourself. One more time and we may need to host an intervention."

Clint's face paled. Tony realized he'd cross the line with the last comment and reeled to take it back. He shook his head a little. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair of me." He moved his food tray aside and sat looking at Clint. "Fact is, the little distress call we sent out was picked up by the good Captain. He sent Thor ahead of the medical team to find us. Thor gave me a quick jump start and the medical team drained some poor shmuck like a vampire and topped you off with every last ounce of O negative they could find. Thank Rogers later too, he donated. Should have seen the size of the needle they used to get through that skin. They said some of his healing factors could have floated over short-term, help you get back on your feet faster. It's a good thing he was the same type as you."

Pepper grabbed the cup of coffee off of the extra tray and handed it to Clint. He held it for a little while, flexing his hands as if trying to determine whether or not they were actually attached. Fear of his drugged nightmares threatened to seize him. But he kept listening to Tony before deciding if it was a good idea to drink his coffee or not. In the end he figured a sip couldn't hurt, and took the smallest bit in his mouth and held it there until Stark was finished explaining. When he swallowed, his stomach groaned some in protest, but didn't actively refute accepting more.

"So we got out of there all right?" Clint asked. He nodded towards Tony's cast and took another sip of coffee.

"As good as we could have after getting dropped in a deserted beach in the middle of nowhere. Busted my arm pretty good, which reminds me I do have to level Thor's face at some point today. I'll have JARVIS make a note."

"Is my face real bad?" Clint asked.

Tony smirked. "You weren't winning any beauty contests before. Docs sewed you up all right. All the pieces were there which was a benefit. Except that little thing on your ear—" Tony made a strange face.

"It looks fine." Pepper assured him before Clint went barreling out of bed to find a mirror. "Don't be so mean, Tony." Pepper patted his hand in a calming way and added, "The worst part was your ribs. They said you will be fine, but they had to remove one because it was so damaged. You'll be in a back brace for a little while, so don't twist around too much."

"Two centimeters over and that shot would have killed you." Tony added seriously. "You were lucky."

"You both were." Pepper corrected. "Now if you two are done playing catch up, Clint you have to try and eat some of your breakfast otherwise Bruce is going to have to hook you back up to the IV line. Can you manage to eat something?"

Clint looked down at the food obviously meant for him. If he wasn't mistaken, Tasha probably made it up herself. Everything he considered a favorite fruit was on there, including the absence of detestable red grapes in favor of green ones. Even the kiwis were diced to look like little stars and the melon slices were shaped into arrows. She must have been a little bored too.

Before he even considered putting something solid down his throat he wanted to at least attempt finishing his coffee. Two sips down, and he was going strong but that meant nothing overall. The last thing he wanted to do was revisit being bent over and retching with chest pain knocking him off his feet.

"Lemme try to finish this," he said, indicating the cup. "If I can't, then Tony can knock me out and Bruce can hook me up. I'm not a big needle fan."

"Is that a promise?" Tony asked with child-like enthusiasm.

"Or I could just eat the entire plate and throw up on your bed. Whatever you want." Clint countered.

Stark shrugged. "Well, I tried."

* * *

So the FINAL chapter is coming up next! stay tuned for a special update at the end of the final chapter that may surprise you!

I added the additional scene of Clint's consciousness with Pepper, 1 because i thought it was cute. 2 to clear up some lingering questions from reviewers. hope this helps!

Review, as always!


	10. Chapter 10

**Author Note: **HERE IT IS! THE END! (or is it? stay tuned!)

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! I want to send some credit out to Isalarma, she gave me the awesome plot bunny to write this when I finished her book Some Things Aren't Funny, go read it! Idea of Tony being afraid of water is a total credit to Isalarma.

**Author:** PeechTao

**Lithium Hawkeye**

_Chapter 10_

Clint's eyes were closed. His entire being drank in the moment of complete silence and loneliness. Down here, he was the only person on the planet. Nothing phased him. The world was calm. And nothing could penetrate this invisible barrier he'd but up to keep everyone out. Small bubble passed through his lips and lifted through the cerulean water to explode by the surface. He was doing his best to concentrate. Thinking the words that had kept him clawing hold of sanity for nearly two months since Loki ripped his mind apart.

_First, say his name._

_Hawkeye._

_Next, what he does._

_I am an agent of SHIELD. An Avenger._

_Third, repeat a simple mantra._

_Hawkeye. Avenger. Top shot. Archery. Good guy._

The questions and answers came smoothly to him. Rolling through his mind like crystal waves and pushing out the pain he learned to ignore. He still had plenty of healing to do, but he was making progress. Slow and steady progress.

Clint pushed himself up off the pool floor. He had just enough time when his head hit the surface to inhale before his lungs threatened to implode. The doctors, and mainly Bruce, would tell him he shouldn't be pushing his luck with strenuous activity. That's when he would ask if holding his breath for three minutes under ten feet of water counted as strenuous. Apparently, their definitions never contained the word "no" afterward. Oh well, Hawkeye was never very good at following directions to begin with. If Banner requested he stay out of the gym for the next week, then maybe he'd cut back to a session every other day or so, out of respect for the guy. Besides that, orders weren't always the top of his "to follow" list.

"There he is, Mr. Suicidal himself. Having fun with that self-water boarding there, little miss sunshine? I thought I drained this thing a year ago."

Clint didn't have to clear the chlorinated water from his eyes to know Tony was standing at the edge of the pool. He toyed with the idea of dragging Tony in out of spite, cast or no cast. But he vaguely remembered reading in some missions brief about the playboy's fear of water. He thought better about it and stored that little piece of revenge for the future.

"What do I owe the pleasure of your prestigious company?" Clint asked, sarcasm dripping off every word. He wiped his eyes clear and looked at the edge of the pool, gauging whether or not he could just pull himself out rather then swim for the ladder. He'd look like a helpless fool if he didn't make it out on his first try, so he decided to swim to the ladder instead.

"Oh, you know, saving the world job's been a little light as of late." Tony replied, walking along as Clint swam. Clint did note he kept a good four feet between him and the pool edge. So, the water fear was probably founded on some degree of authenticity.

"Somehow I know what you mean." Clint replied. He pulled himself up the ladder, trying to ignore the tug against his hardly healed bullet wound. Banner would be chewing him out later for getting his face's stitches soaked. The staples in his back didn't feel all that pleased with his pool jump either. But Clint needed someplace to think by himself and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Are those my swim trunks?" Tony pointed out.

"Pepper let me borrow them." Clint replied.

"She's enabling your bad behavior. I'll speak to your mother about this later." Tony folded his arms. "Son, you must stop this manipulative behavior. You know she cant say no to anything you ask her."

Clint felt an emotional rock slide knock the wind out of him. He turned away from Tony and went rooting for his towel before the emotion could blast across his face. Unfortunately for him, it was exactly what Stark was waiting for.

Ever since the heart-to-heart Clint had dropped in the plane, Tony had been doing everything he could to steer conversation towards Clint's past. He wasn't sure how or when the right time to bring it up was, but now with Clint veritably cornered on the rooftop swimming pool with no one watching but God, he jumped at the opportunity.

"You know, you're not the only one with a crappy rap sheet. I've been there too, at home and back in that desert cave." He said quickly, before Clint could take off and hide someplace.

Clint turned on him. "What are you talking about? Everyone knows what I did for SHIELD was government sanctioned—"

"I'm not talking about being in SHIELD, or Loki." Tony said. This conversation was not starting the way he'd planned it in his head. He held up a hand in supplication. "Ok, let me start over. You're not the only one on this team whose father was as close to him as a pile of elephant crap. I just want you to know, I understand."

Hawkeye was shocked and this time he could not hide it. "What the Hell do you think you know about me? You don't know crap about my father! What are you trying to do, say are fathers were the same? That I had the same upbringing you did? That you're hostage crisis somehow makes us equal?"

"Look, Clint, I'm just saying—"

"I know what your saying, and I'm telling you that you've got it all wrong. My father was the greatest man I've ever known in my life and if you're implying he wasn't, then I'm walking away right now before I do something that I'll regret." Clint was so angry he was shaking head to foot. His hands were clenched into fists, one wrong word and either of them were going for Stark's face.

Tony, for his part, was flabbergasted. It wasn't possible he'd gotten so many little hints, small details wrong. So of course, he had to be right. "But you told me you learned to pick cuffs as a kid, and all that jack about knowing how to set broken arms. That you had to because every day you woke up that bruiser beat the Hell out of you. I read your sheet. I know what he did to your mother and sister, and what you did to avenge them, I get it."

_**CRACK!**_

Tony hit the pool deck with a thud. Even though Clint regretted what the punch did to his still pained wounds, it felt good to hit him. "You don't know anything about my family, and whoever told you that crap about me is a liar too. My dad got killed you ignorant fool! He taught me everything I know about shooting. My brother's the one who turned on us. He was supposed to be everything to me. He was supposed to look out for us." His body couldn't stop shaking. His fist clenched and unclenched. For safety, Tony stayed down, nursing his jaw with one hand.

"He made me kill him. He wouldn't stop otherwise. The things he did to them . . . our mother, our sister, he wasn't going to stop. He made me do it. He wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth crap."

Suddenly it all clicked in Tony's mind. "But _you_ are." He told him. Not so worried he might be decked again, Tony got to his feet, but kept a comfortable distance between them. "Look, Clint, I know you think your worth about as much as he was, that what your brother did doesn't shine a lighter to the things Loki made you do. But _you are not him_."

"Oh, now you know everything I'm thinking, is that it?" Clint spat at him.

"I think if you don't stop comparing yourself to him, I'm going to walk into your room one day and find you splayed out with a gun in your mouth." Tony fired back just as angry.

Clint snapped. He moved forward, his fist seeking another connection with Stark's face when Tony ducked under him and rushed forward. With one hand he leveled a body shot to Clint's kidney and brought a knee against his side. Clint's elbow came down on the back of Tony's head and the two of them went crashing to the ground. Tony recovered a little first, making it to his feet enough to send his boot into Clint's shoulder. Clint let out a cry, hitting his back off the pool deck. He sat up enough to grab Tony's shirt with his right hand and yanked the billionaire closer. He punched Tony in the cheek with his left, holding him steady with the right. He pulled his left back again but Tony brought his knee up again, this time right into Clint's healing rib. Forced to let go, Clint turned away from him and held his side while he gasped for air. Tony rolled away, holding a hand to his throbbing eye. He wasn't sure if it was just blood rushing under his skin, or if his nose was actually bleeding.

Apparently Clint was able to get his bearings before Tony could because the next thing Stark felt was the shove against his side before his body hit the water. Then, the panic set in. Tony may not have the same extreme flashbacks PTSD rocked him through over a year ago, but that didn't mean he liked being thrown into a pool ten feet deep with a lead weight attached to his arm. So he may have screamed a little. At least the tears were well hidden by the ample cover around him.

Clint sat gasping on the pool edge for a minute or two, watching Tony try to drown himself with all his flailing around. He knew he'd save him, he just wanted the busy-body to suffer for a little while first. When it seemed like Tony truly was in danger of drowning himself, Clint reached out and hauled him back to the edge. Pure adrenaline made it easy for Tony to one-hand his way over the ledge and he sat, coughing and sputtering beside Clint. Clint wasn't exactly done being mad, but he wasn't planning on hitting Tony again either.

"So, I guess we're cool then?" Tony asked.

Clint looked over at him and glared a little. Tony did not forget how close he was to the pool edge incase the archer wanted to hurl him in again.

"Stop messing with my head." Clint told him. "I've got enough people trying to do that. I just need, _one person_, who doesn't. Is that so hard?"

Stark sat up, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Yeah, he was bleeding. "So, you're saying you don't want to share with all your friends in group therapy?"

Clint tried to laugh. "Actually, I would feel a lot better if people stopped treating me like a four-year-old. Or the enemy. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Stark, besides try to get you killed in a plane crash?"

Tony laughed a little. "Actually, when you think about it, and I said this already, you did more trying to keep me alive then you did neglecting me."

"And no more trying to kill yourself to save me, deal?" Clint posed.

To that, Stark was more serious. He sighed. "Look. That I cant say yes to and you know why I can't. I already proved that I'd sacrifice myself for everyone on this team. And you are part of this team. It's not something I just decide in my mind. I mean, I couldn't tell you to do the same thing and expect you to do it, can I? In the heat of battle, someone takes a shot at me, you wouldn't jump in and take it yourself?"

"Probably not, you'd be wearing armor. I'd look like an idiot."

Tony gave him a disappointed look. "You know what I mean. We gut robbed at the 7-11 going for a midnight Big Gulp, you would totally be the hero."

Clint thought about it for a minute and supposed Tony probably had a point. "Yeah, ok."

"So we agree?" Stark pressed. "Cause I got to clear this crap up. I'll stop being such an irresponsible jerk that Thor actually feels the need to handcuff in order to go where I'm told to, and you will stop thinking you're the bane of all humanity."

"And you will stop acting like I'm damaged goods and we both agree to not, _not_ die for each other." Clint finalized.

"Double negative equals a positive."

"Deal?"

Stark struck his hand out and the two of them shook on it. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship, the two of them thought. After all, they were similar on many levels. One of which was there ability to switch mental gears on a dime. Almost at the same time they came to a similar conclusion about their first joint venture as a partnership. And it involved one of the four beings that just arrived at the pool deck.

Natasha rushed for them, her gentle touch helping Hawkeye to sit up as she cursed him out in Russian. Banner was indecisive as to which one of them needed him most and so decided to sit between them and work like a four-armed human. Rogers stood over them, not actively admonishing what they had obviously done to each other, but he was looking for the reason why. Thor was laughing. And Thor was precisely who both Tony and Clint focused all their attention on.

"JARVIS told us you two were trying to kill each other." Rogers said.

"What were you thinking?" Banner said, his muscles quivering in anger at the cleanup job he had to spend the next few hours on.

"Clint, are you ok?" Tasha whispered. "What did he say? Should I kill him for you?"

Clint smiled at Natasha. Tony, obviously overhearing, whipped his head in her direction.

"They have solved what differences have plagued them. It is a normal behavior of true warriors of Asgard." Thor announced. "I am proud of your resolve my friends."

Tony smiled, taking the afforded opportunity. "Oh, what was that? I can't hear you with this water in my ears. Can you come closer?"

Thor, unsuspecting, did just that. He wandered over, and knelt down beside Clint and Tony both. His mouth opened to repeat what he had said, probably intending to add something more about Asgard rituals but he never got so far. Instead, Tony's soaked cast came up and gave him such a mighty right hook that the stunned Asgardian flung backward, his arms wind-milling to try and stop his momentum before he slipped into the pool water. He might have saved the fall, had Clint not swept out a leg and knocked the giant off his feet and right into the pool water.

Like a single entity, both Tony and Clint began laughing and crying all at once. Clint's side had ripped open again, Tony's arm had snapped along its iron plate, but neither could stop themselves. So there they sat, as Thor struggled to understand the meaning of the joke and Captain American fished him out of the pool, Tony and Clint solidified a friendship the others could not hope to touch. Something built between them, something neither ever expected. They were closer then Avengers. They were brothers.

* * *

ok, so i LOVE this book so much, i'm actually working on a couple tag chapters, not a sequel by any means, but just little scenes that i like and want to add for a story continuation. check back for updates, the snipits will either be posted here or as an independent book depending on how long they end up being. thanks for being such loyal fans! you rocked my book!

update, update update: ok, so those tag chapter have gotten a little long. it may actually be a complete sequel. not sure yet thought. i do want to make the scene of Natasha hanging over Clint as he sleeps, and my next book will have a little more of their dynamic in it. i'm going a lil avenger crazy, i see it happening. so keep an eye out! another book coming soon!


	11. A brief aside: Natasha's POV

**Author Note:** Ok, to be honest I forgot all about making this chapter, so here's a little insert for you! This is Natasha's POV from Clint clambering into Tony's bedroom during the morning hours.

Lithium Hawkeye

A brief Aside

He had crawled into Stark's room. I couldn't quite figure out why. Pepper had a good way of explaining it. She said his mind was overwhelmed with a need to feel attached. Attached to something real and alive. If Tony wasn't there for him, Clint would probably have lost himself in his mind forever.

I figured it was a good enough excuse. But it still didn't help me understand why not me. Why not my bed. We were so close. I knew his thoughts as much as my own. Every breath I exhaled he pulled into his own lungs only to send it back. Where was my partner? My confidant? My lover?

I would have never guessed I would find him at the bottom of Stark's bed. Tony bloody Stark. I never thought Clint would live through how I found him. With his chest covered in blood, his eyes full of lifeless disfigurement. I felt my heart rend in two, pulled through the cage of my ribs by a foreign fist and crushed. Now, sneaking into Stark's room I see the product of so many doctors hard work. Here he lay, a broken man with a war torn mind ravaged by his demons and reduced to the brain of a child. It was almost worse then finding him dead. Or almost dead.

It wasn't the first time either. Our line of work, I had seen him four times in states close to death. I was there twice without him, one with him. Explosions, gunshots, misfires, nothing could tear us apart. Not even death.

My eyes flashed over to the sleeping Stark. There was one BIG thing between us now. Ever since he'd come back from Loki, it was all I could do to pull myself away from him. Every time our eyes met in those old ways, I could see the terror in his eyes. The thoughts of the things he almost did to me. I suffered with him. The echo of Loki's horrid words beating through my mind like a metronome. Whether by him or by me, it was obvious a rift had formed between us. I wondered if I could ever traverse it and pull him back into that fun that we used to have.

"He asked about you." Pepper said suddenly, breaking through the silence that had fallen for over an hour now.

I looked over at her questioningly. I was sitting at the end of the bed. Clint's head was in my lap as I brushed his hair back in his hands. I didn't know until later I had taken Pepper's abandoned post from just a few minutes before.

Pepper had abandoned pretending to sleep beside Stark. She was sitting up, reading over something on an electronic tablet. She set the tablet aside for a minute to return my focus. "Clint. He wanted to know that you were ok."

A ray of hope began to crumble the wall imagined between me and the man in my arms. "He asked about me?"

Pepper smiled in that soft, friendly way. The kind of smile that shifted all her freckles high up on her cheek and made the creases on her forehead appear and disappear. "I told him you wanted him off the Helicarrier. He wasn't surprised. He said thank you. That you are always looking out for each other like that."

Despite myself, I almost cried. It was the most beautiful thing Clint had ever said about me in the last few months since his return. The sun had already pinnacled through the windows. It wouldn't be long until the others were after us and looking to reclaim Clint into the fold. That meant getting him to eat. Most of them didn't know Clint well enough to prepare anything remotely appetizing. But I did.

"I think I'll go make him something." I said.

Pepper seemed surprised, as if the idea of me acting in any way domestic was like Stark deciding to buy a scooter over a crotch rocket. The look lasted only a moment before it passed by. "I think that's just what he needs." Pepper said.

"Make sure he doesn't run off?" I asked her.

Pepper smiled and nodded, switching out her iPad for one of the books on the bedside table. "Don't worry. I won't let him rush off any place soon."

I gave Clint a final lasting glance. My fingers traced across his forehead, down his chest and into the palms of his hands. They were battered in scars that hardly anyone noticed anymore. They were scars I had given him, so long ago. We were enemies then but now they served as a blatant reminder of everything I ever owed him. The red in my ledger, written by his fingers dipped in blood.

I pulled myself away and slipped out of the room before the kitchen staff could hijack my breakfast. If there was nothing else I could give him, then this would have to do. A cup of my crappy coffee, and his favorite breakfast food were more then my contribution to his recovery. It would be the beginning of our partnership building all over again.

Today, I remove the first brick from out wall.

* * *

ok, honestly, this book is really REALLY done now


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